THE LAST CASE
by PanicButton
Summary: David Rossi wants to write a book about Flanders. He would like to think he knows what was going on. A series of taped interviews in preparation. Reid, Prentiss, Morgan, OMCs Will there be any truth? Adult content. Language.
1. Chapter One

**Rossi's Notes on Floyd Flanders Franks.**

I hadn't known Floyd for as long as some of my old team, but I think I was the one who understood him the best. Even Spencer Reid didn't have the insight I had. There was no hatred from him. At least I never felt any. There was no threat, which I think was the reason why I could see more than most. Reid was too close and too damaged.

Floyd stood at about five foot nine. He was of a light build which he covered up with layers of clothing and disguised with attitude. It was very deceiving. He was much stronger than he appeared to be. Inhuman strength, I would like to say. He was also oddly beguiling and likeable, even though there was nothing about him which should have been. He was violent, dirty and crass. A bully. Deluded and paranoid. Dangerous and yet somewhat sad. Unhappy. He carried with him a deep sorrow which I could see clearly but others never even gained a glimpse of.

He claimed to be a Guardian Angel. That was part of his delusion. He said that he had to protect Reid. It was his job. Though his protection seemed not to be even slightly loving or gentle. I had seen him panic and I had seen him when his protective side came into being and that was maybe more dangerous than when he seemed to be hurting everyone around him. He would allow nothing to get in his way or stop him from doing what he thought was right when it came to Reid.

Floyd was a drunk and drug dependant. He smoked almost constantly. I never fully understood why he had such a need for everyone around him to be scrubbed clean, yet he himself rarely washed or even removed all of his clothing. Floyd would wear the same clothes for months and seemingly not be able to smell himself.

He could form strange friendships, but I was never sure if they were real. They seemed as though he found someone else he could manipulate and lie to and feel some sort of power from that.

Emily Prentiss was one of those people. That was the strangest of his friendships and Prentiss seemed to respond to it. Floyd was a misogynist. He hated all women. Prentiss was somehow different. He was fascinated by her and she by him. I could see by the way he looked at her that there was something about Prentiss that Floyd wanted to get closer to. She never told me the whole story, but I do wonder if it was her initial dislike of Reid which allowed Floyd to look at her in a different way. This though is the only woman I have known Floyd to even tolerate, let alone like in some strange and twisted way.

It's far easier to list the people I know who Floyd had a great dislike for. Hotchner was one of them. I would say that the closeness Reid had with Hotch was the reason for the hatred there. Reid could go to Hotch and talk to him about problems he might have. Hotch was a friend of sorts. I think this was a major reason for the violent dislike Floyd had for him.

JJ. A sweet person. It wasn't just a dislike for JJ that Floyd had. She seemed to embody everything in a woman which Floyd reviled the most, from her gender to her hair colour and teeth. She was never a threat, but Floyd seemed to see her as one. Not only a threat to himself but certainly to the relationship he had with Reid. Even when she was settled with a child it didn't stop Floyd from feeling that she would be the one Reid would eventually run off with.

Morgan. Derek Morgan seemed to be someone who Floyd couldn't even be in the same room as. He always claimed he wasn't racist. He actually said that it was nothing to do with the skin colour. It was Morgan. I have a strong doubt there. Remarks on his colour were often made, and Floyd would say it was just a part of Morgan he disliked. He didn't like that colour skin, not because of race but because of something deeper and more personal to himself. I did eventually find out what that reason was and it was yet another of his delusions and part of his paranoia and mental state. It was to do with something which happened to him when he was young, though I should point out that Floyd always insisted that he had never been a child and youth has nothing to do with age.

As I stated. Others have known Floyd longer than I had. How Floyd came into Reid's life is confusing and depending on who you ask, you will get a different story.

One of them is that when Reid was already part of the BAU, when under the guidance of Gideon, that Floyd first made his appearance. That it was some sort of mind control he had used to manipulate Reid. Drugs had been used to cause Reid to start questioning his sanity, though at the time he kept it quiet. Maybe he didn't even realise it was happening. Reid's fear of becoming ill like his mother was deep. However if you spoke to Reid about meeting Floyd for the first time, you would get a completely different story. Reid insisted that he had actually known Floyd for many years, since he was a child… before his father left the family home. Reid said that Floyd had been there almost as far back as his memory would go. He had been the person who would protect him from school bullies. He had been there, watching and moving his game pieces for much longer than we initially suspected. Why Reid's memories skip and change is not fully understood but was likely to do with implanted memories, things which actually never happened. I would like to think it was like that because the idea of that predator of a man being around Reid when he was a young boy is worrying. Did Floyd groom him? We will never know. Looking at records though it's easy to see in the early days, when Reid's mother was ill and his father wasn't around that someone was there keeping an eye on him. Reid went missing on a few occasions when his mother was particularly ill. He always maintained that Floyd had been looking after him, but that's open to speculation. Where Spencer went during those few weeks he was missing has never been revealed. Spencer always refused to answer questions like that. He would clam up and stay silent on the subject. I don't know if any sexual activity was going on between them from such an early age, but I really do doubt it. Reid's medical reports from his childhood showed no signs of anything other than a fear of the dark and bedwetting. Any child raised the way Reid was, could have had the same emotional oddities. It's nothing to be alarmed about and I would like to think that Floyd was honest with me on that much, at least.

Floyd was searching for something. I know that. It was a constant nagging in his head. He loved the woodlands and forests and could survive for years alone out there if he needed to. Yet that wasn't what he really wanted. He didn't even really want Reid. It seemed that Reid was a step towards what he really wanted. His freedom.

He told me that he was working his way back to where he came from. He needed to show the gods that he was not what they thought he was. He needed to be given back what they had taken from him and other forces were in play to stand in his way. Reid was his ticket and he was not going to hand it over or lose it to someone else. What that place was I was never sure of. He called it The Great Forest. He said it was where he came from and he needed to go home. He needed to be back there and his path was blocked by something he did a long time ago.

Floyd speaks as though he has been alive for centuries. He speaks of the old times as though they have only just happened. He says he was one of the first pilgrims to step on this land and that he formed a deep and loving relationship with one of the natives. This obviously is part of his mental health problem. He really believes it. It bothers him that he did certain things which he now appears to regret. Betrayal. He betrayed someone and would take it back and have that not happen, but that's not possible, not even in the mind of someone like Floyd, that's not possible. I did try talking him around it. I attempted some sort of trick with him to say that he could go back there and change what he did and the alarm on his face was frightening. He claimed that it would change everything. Too much had happened. It wasn't possible. It was a regret he would have to live with, but past happenings like that, such vast things, cannot be changed. He would never say what it was he did. He kept his mouth firmly shut on that one. I suspect he killed someone of importance. I will never know who that person was now and it hardly matters if it never happened in the first instance.

Reid would often come into work with bruises and we would try to give him a get out, so he could escape the abuse he was getting at home, but he turned it down. The strange thing about that was Floyd would leave, sometimes for a year or so, but Reid would still come in looking as though he'd been bare knuckle fighting. As it turned out, he was going elsewhere to get the abuse he was missing out on when Floyd was away. That was how twisted Floyd had made their relationship.


	2. Recordings and Conversations

**TWO**

**Recordings of Conversations.**

I got into the habit of keeping recordings of conversations between the two of us. A lot of it makes no sense.

**One: Interview at Park Grange Hospital.**

Floyd was hospitalised for a short while after being shot. His mental health had deteriorated at his point, but I thought I could perhaps get him to talk to me.

Rossi. 'How are you feeling?'

Floyd. 'How the fuck do you think I'm feeling. I'm strapped to a fucking bed. How can I do what I need to do when you're holding me here like this?

'It's not only for your safety. Can you tell me what happened?'

'I was shot. Being shot does little to ease the rage going on in my head. I'll kill the fucking lot of them. You have no damned right to keep me here. I've done nothing wrong.'

Rossi. 'You killed some people. I would class that as something wrong. How do you feel about it?'

Floyd. 'Feel about what? They were nothing. Would never amount to anything. They were whores and junkies. At least they were if I'm going to admit to anything, which I'm not, but I'm telling you, old man, that they were the end of their line. They would have offered nothing to the world. Their loss is not going to change a thing. Less disease. Less money passed to drug dealers. If I had killed them and only if, then I would have been doing to world a fucking great favour. You should be thanking me, not shooting me and dragging me here when I was trying to regrow the parts your lot blasted out of me. Your mistake, I guess. I'm not that easy to kill.'

Rossi. 'You seem to know a lot about what happened for someone who says they had nothing to do with it.

(Some emotion now showed. A raised eyebrow. For Floyd that was a sign that he was listening. You had to be with him for a while to pick up on certain things. It was one of his ticks. I don't think he could stop himself from doing it.)

Floyd. 'Did I say I had nothing to do with any of it? I did?' A deep sigh. 'Supply and demand. Always be careful who you pick as your mark. I'm always careful.'

Rossi. 'Is that a confession?'

Floyd. 'It's a statement. Take it as you will. I don't have to be the hand which drew blood to be the one who caused it.'

Rossi. 'A hit? You hired someone?'

Floyd. 'You'll never understand. Why are you bothering to ask? Why do you ask me things and then not listen to the answer? There's more to me than you'll ever know.'

Rossi. 'Then fill me in. Tell me what I'm missing.'

Floyd. 'Fuck off. Let me go or leave me alone. Maybe come back when you're being twisted and fucked with the way I am. Come back when you realise that your gods are not what you thought they were. That's all for now. Screw you Rossi… and next time you visit at least bring coffee and some smokes with you.'

**End of recording.**

**Two: Interview at Mount Ridge Sheriff's Office.**

Rossi. 'What have you done with Reid?'

Floyd. 'Where would you like me to start? When I first fucked him, when I first kissed his dimple – oh what a delight that was! Or do you want to know what I did to him when we hid away in the caves… or perhaps what went on in secret behind closed doors. Locked and closed. Locked and closed because sometimes things are fucking private and not a thing I have any interest at all in discussing with you. What's wrong with your fucking chin! Stop that! It's going to cause me to do something you'll not like. A shave maybe? I give good full body close shaves and hardly ever nick the skin. Get me a knife. I'll show you.'

Rossi. 'Where is Reid?'

Floyd. 'What the fuck? What? What! Why? What's he got to do with you?'

Rossi. 'He's one of our agents.'

Floyd. 'Apart from that, what's he got to do with you? Get me a fucking knife or I'll have to chew that beard right off your smug arsed face.'

Rossi. 'He's missing.'

Floyd. 'No he's not. I know exactly where he is. He knows where he is. He's not missing.'

Rossi. 'We would like to know where he is…'

(A pause here as Derek Morgan enters the room.)

Rossi. 'For our own peace of mind, we would like to know where he is.'

Floyd. 'I'm not talking whilst that bastard is in here. His stink makes my throat close up and my eyes water. Fuck you. Arseholes. Get rid of him. Get me coffee. Get me my smokes and I might tell you something. I can't fucking concentrate with that thing sitting there.'

Morgan. 'You have a problem with me?'

Floyd. 'With you and millions of others just like you? No… just you. Just you. Get rid of him Rossi or this stops now. Lock me away. Throw away the fucking key, but I'll not tell you a thing all the while that cunt is sitting where I can smell and see him.'

**End of recording.**

**Three: Interview at Mount Ridge Sheriff's Office.**

Rossi. 'He's gone, but I have to remind you that this is being recorded and he will be listening to what we are saying. What is it you have against my agent?'

Floyd. 'I can see he's fucking gone. I'm not blind. My sense of smell is a bit singed but my eyesight is pretty damned good. You want to know where Reid is?'

Rossi. 'A location would be good. A way to contact him.'

Floyd. 'There is nothing I want more than peace. I love it. The sound of nothing but the slips and groans of nature. The smells of the woodlands. There is nothing more I want. Reid is somewhere safe. He is in peace…'

Rossi. 'Is he dead, Floyd?'

Floyd. 'Death is such a – a definite sounding thing. There are so many definitions to such a terminal word. It could mean a broken down vehicle, or the end of a poem, but these things can be fixed. Some words are over used and need to be thought of carefully before being placed in a sentence or even in your own stupid head. A poem can be added to and expanded… The nights are long. Very long… longer if you never sleep. Can you understand that? They are eternal. That though isn't death as such. Even leaving this life – if you can possibly call this a life is not true death… you believe in life after death don't you? So how can the word _death_ be used in the way you're meaning it when in reality it just carries on somewhere else? There are very many other worlds than this one, Rossi… the spirit and the soul move onward. They are in constant change and on an eternal journey. Because that spirit and soul are no longer available to see, smell or hear by you, does not by anywise mean that death is what it might seem. It's such a greedy idea. The thought that because you cannot communicate with someone or see them grow or smell their skin, or lick the sweat from their necks. Because you can't suck on their teeth and run fingers through their hair as you feel them grind against you, don't you feel that's selfish? No feeling for the person who seems to be gone, but only feeling for your own personal loss. Get over yourself Rossi. No one lives to keep you amused. Amuse your fucking self. We all move on. All of us.'

Rossi. 'Have you killed Reid?'

Floyd. 'You should ask him that yourself. I might have killed parts of him. I have killed his fear of the dark. I have killed his ability to cope alone. I have killed his personality, or at least chipped away at it to the point you'd not like him. Not recognise what is left. I'm unsure what you mean by your question. Have I taken his life from him? Is he rotting in a shallow grave somewhere? Is that what you mean? Elucidate. Your questions make very little sense to me.'

Rossi. 'Have you taken Reid's life from him, Floyd?'

Floyd. 'Stupid fucking question. I just said you should ask him yourself. How can you do that if I've torn him apart and eaten his heart and liver? Stupid fucking question. Try another one.

Rossi. 'I would like contact with Reid.'

Floyd. 'Tough fucking luck then. I'm keeping him safe from the shadows and demons. I'm keeping him safe. You want me to expose his location to you? You think I'm so stupid as to do that? You'll assume he's there against his will. You'll not bother to listen to him. If he's with me or somewhere I've chosen to keep him you will obviously be of the thought that I'm keeping him prisoner and that he had no choice in the matter. You're wrong. He will contact you when and if he feels like it. I'm not stopping him.' (a pause as he sips on coffee and lights a cheroot.) 'Fine I guess I'm stopping him in as much as I'll show my fury to him if he contacts Hotchner, but that's never stopped him in the past. When he feels the need you will hear from him. Until then there is little you can do. He's an adult.'

**End of recording.**

**Four: Telephone Conversation with Spencer Reid.**

Reid. 'Rossi!'

Rossi. 'Can you talk to me? Are you alone?'

Reid. 'Ah… Everything is great!'

Rossi. 'That's not what I asked you. Are you alone?'

Reid. 'Ah… Yes?'

Rossi. 'Is Floyd with you?'

Reid. 'Yes?'

Rossi. 'You don't sound sure.'

Reid. 'He's here with me. Did you want to talk to him? I'll get him. He's… he's… yes… what? Wait a minute… Rossi? Hang on.'

(sounds of the phone being dropped and muffled voices.)

Floyd. 'What? Isn't it enough that you know he's alive and well?'

Rossi. 'Can I speak to Reid?'

Floyd. 'The fuck? You just were. You want more from me that I'm willing to give.'

Rossi. 'I'm not asking much, am I? I just want to talk to Reid.'

Floyd. 'Spencer is resting. He can't come to the phone right now.'

Rossi. 'I was just talking to him. Get him for me please.'

Floyd. 'Well he had the sudden urge to lay down in the dirt here and have a sleep. I don't want to wake him. He has problems sleeping. Nightmares. Leave him. He's fine where he is.

Rossi. 'I need to speak to him.'

Floyd. 'No, what you mean is you want to speak to him. That's different. You don't actually need him to. Need would imply that you will implode with arrogance if you don't and I really don't think that's going to happen any day soon, as much as I keep requesting that from the gods, it's not on their list of things to have happen to you. So you don't need fuck all. You want… and a want is something so fuzzy around the edges that I don't think it's really all that important. He's sleeping.'

Rossi. 'Did you just hit him?'

Floyd. 'Hit? Me? Why would I hit him? Wait… no… A hit… I would really imagine that to be something open handed, you know? A slap. No I didn't.'

Rossi. 'Stop twisting everything I say. Did you hit Reid?'

Floyd. 'Um… not as such. Not me. No. A… what was it now? What is that thing called? Ah yes, a fist. I smacked my fist on the back of this head and he dropped like a plane from the sky. He's fine. Might have grazed his face a bit, but I can lick that nice and clean for him. Is that what you wanted to hear?'

Rossi. 'Truth is what I want to hear.'

Floyd. 'Truth? You really are trying my patience. Wait… hold on. Ah ha! Yes here he comes.'

Reid. 'Rossi?'

Rossi. 'Where did you go? Did he do something?'

Reid. 'Coffee. I went to get coffee. Dave, really there's nothing to be alarmed about. I am fine and Floyd is fine. Everything is fine.'

Rossi. 'He said he hit you. That you were sleeping.'

Reid. 'He was just kidding with you. He's not like that… he'd never hurt me.'

**End of recording.**


	3. Little Things

**THREE**

I've left the recordings in that format so you could fully see the way Floyd will twist your words and the way his mind worked. I also wanted you to see that he had dragged Reid into his own delusions. Reid actually seemed to believe that Floyd would never hurt him, even though everyone around him and who was drawn into this situation knew otherwise. Reid would continue to deny it as he stood there with bruises. There was nothing we could do to help if Reid didn't ask. Our hands were tied.

Things changed when Sam came onto the scene. There we had an under aged boy who was very obviously being abused by Floyd and who also had serious problems of his own. I will however come to that later.

Now I want to talk about the things Floyd could do which we have never been able to explain. To Reid they might have seemed so natural that he never questioned them, but to people outside of the circle they were a puzzle which scientists still sit and try to unravel. They are still trying and they are getting no closer to an answer.

Manipulation of the mind was a skill which Floyd had used on Reid since he was a child. I strongly doubt that Reid even knew it was going on. Reid has had enough head Xrays for us to be as sure as we can be that there was no electronic implants or anything of that nature which were involved, but it did seem that they were in communication with each other even when not directly in sight. Reid could pick up on something and though it has been said it was similar to The Twin Effect it was so much more than that. They didn't just pick up on emotions or even pain, but direct commands and thoughts. How it was done we will probably never know, but the fact that it did happen is something we are sure of. Floyd seemed to be able to charm his way out of situations, though charm would be a word not often used with him. It seemed to happen. He could walk away from nearly all situations just by suggesting to someone that they needed to move away and let him go. This didn't always seem to work. It has been noted that when angry or when fuelled by violence that this skill, whatever it was he did, was forgotten and it was brute strength he fell back on. It was also roughly documented in medical records that Floyd seemed able to pull pain away from someone else and take it on himself. There is absolutely no proof of this.

Manipulation of electronics. Floyd was rarely, if ever, actually picked out on any video recording device unless we requested it. Security cameras never worked when he was around. He could by-pass security locks as though they didn't exist. It was not something he had to do. It was something that just happened.

Manipulation of mechanical locks. A locksmith would have been envious of the skills he had here. How he did it, again we will never know, but he could unlock anything presented to him. The only way to secure him properly was plastic cuffs. Anything which locked would just fall away. Doors could be opened, though when in interview they were always locked it was not to keep him in the room. I knew that if he wanted he could just walk out of the room. Again he rarely did this. He often seemed happy to be sitting in an interview room being questioned and though he would be angry that he was being detained… it was almost as though it was his chance to get things in the open and to admit to things he had done, even if he never confessed to anything, he still let us know he had done it. Finding proof was where we usually failed.

Tracking. Again a skill which I am sure he found frustrating because of the lack of ability of the people around him. It was as natural to him as a smell or something he could see. He could pick up on vibrations in the ground. He could sniff things out better than a dog trained specifically to track. He said he could smell someone in the air like it was a colour and could smell where they had walked on the ground. He said he could also pick up on fear or other emotions left behind. This was proven time and time again. An eerie ability to search for a particular person over miles of woodland and through city traffic. I don't know how this was done and the only answer I've ever been able to give is that it was all a con… that he knew where he was going from the start and was playing games with us, yet somehow I don't believe that. I saw what he could do. I saw the frustration when he lost where he was going. I could feel the tension in him and see it. Again I have no answers.

Speed healing. The fact that even a bullet to the head couldn't stop him. I have seen it. I know. I know that the only way to stop that man is to remove his head and burn the body. We saw evidence of that and I will never forget the horror of it. He seemed to able to pass this ability on to Spencer. How many times had we sat at his bedside thinking he was about to take his last breath and Floyd would arrive and within hours Reid would be sitting up in bed with nothing more than a headache? An uncountable amount of times. Again there is no answer. There are samples in labs where they puzzle over what they see under a microscope but still no answers. Just more questions. His DNA seems to change as does his blood group and finger prints. One of the main reasons there is such difficulty pinning anything on him.

He never sleeps. Not a true sleep. He has to drug himself into a state of unconsciousness. Reid has said that Floyd hibernates. Will sleep for months if needs be. I've not seen that and I know that not all Reid sees is real.

It must never been thought that Floyd's dislike for telephones is because of a dislike for technology. It's not connected and in actual fact his ability with computers is stunning. His hatred for telephones is because he needs to see someone to know if they're lying to him. He can sniff it out. He can't attack someone for saying the wrong thing if they're on a telephone. It's lack of control he hates, not the actual technology. Though he does have an intense fear of flying and I've been informed he is also very seasick. Two weaknesses.


	4. 04-19-201? 1454

**FOUR**

Video recording of interview with Dr Spencer Reid.

_Number 393… 04-19-201? 14.54_

Start.

He sits at the table with his hands, palms down in front of him. He seems to be digging his fingernails into the table top. His head is down, avoiding looking at the cameras which he knows are there. It doesn't look as though he has slept in a week. He looks as though he's been taking drugs or drinking heavily.

This isn't the Spencer Reid we all know. This is someone else. I wouldn't know this hunched up and broken person if I passed him in the street. The only thing I can say is that his hair is clean as are his clothes. There's dirt behind his fingernails which look bitten. His sleeves are pulled down to his wrists and his watch is over the left cuff. It has been noted that the watch is broken.

He's not here because he has done something wrong. At least I hope he hasn't. This is because Sam Trent-Saviour has gone missing again and it seems that Floyd has gone with him. The obvious person to ask is Reid. He knows he can't smoke in here but he has asked anyway and had his request turned down. At least for now. Treats come later. I want to know if I can get him to open up. We need evidence that Floyd has been doing something. Anything! We need that man stopped. We don't think he's safe around children and this is the path we are going to take for now. I sit down the other side of the table with coffee and a sandwich each. That's all the treats he's getting for now. With-holding information is not what Reid needs to be doing now. He's safe. We have him protected. He can talk to us.

He gives me a quick glance and reaches for the coffee. His hands are shaking. His skin doesn't look a healthy colour. I want to get a good look at his face, but he's avoiding that.

'Do you know where Floyd is?' I ask him.

Reid puts the mug down and places his hands back on the table. 'He's away.'

That wasn't what I asked him, though. 'Do you know where?'

A shrug of the shoulder and now he looks up and though he's not looking at me, but rather over my shoulder, I can see his face. Dark circles under his eyes. A scab on his bottom lip which he quickly licks. He looks ill. 'I don't know.' He finally mutters and I have to ask him to speak up. He needs to speak clearly. He already knows this. He should know this.

'Did he take Sam with him?' This is really what we need to know. Is Spencer back on drugs? Was he truly ever off them in the first place? I don't know and I'm not going to ask him just to be lied to. Spencer Reid seems to have a great ability to lie. Something Flanders has taught him to do.

Another shrug. 'What he does is not really my business.' He now picks at the sandwich, pulling bits off the white crust and prodding at it.

'He lives with you. Surely it's your business if he suddenly disappears?'

Now a shake of the head. 'Strictly speaking I live with him and so it's not my business. My name might be on the paperwork, but he pays the rent. It's his place. I'm lucky to be able to stay there when he's not around.' His hands go back to the mug and wrap around it like it's going to save his life.

'Did he take Sam away with him? Sam was being assessed. He's been accused…'

And Reid cuts me off with a look. A direct stare in the eyes. Not something he often does. There's a deep look of mistrust and hate there. His eyes are narrowed. 'Sam is hardly my business either. What do you want me to say? That I don't know where my boyfriend is and I don't know if he's run off with Sam? Fine. I don't know. I can't tell you what I don't know. I thought I explained that earlier.'

'Sam is…'

And again he stops me with that look. This is not the sweet young man I once knew. This is something nasty. Something created by Flanders. I need to chip around that and speak to the Spencer Reid I used to know.

'I know this isn't easy, but Sam is a vulnerable child in the hands of someone who we know is likely to cause…'

Reid stands. The coffee spills over the table. I stand too and nod at him. 'Sit.' One word which seems to get an immediate reaction. He sits. No complaints. It's almost like a switch was thrown. An automatic response to something said to him.

'Sam is not a vulnerable child.' Reid speaks as he runs his fingers through the spilt coffee. 'He's not what he appears to be, but you know that. Don't say what I know you want to say because that is not how it is. Floyd is not like that.'

'Not like what?' I watch those fingers drawing patterns in the wet.

'He's not a child molester. There I've said it. That's what you wanted to hear. I've answered it for you. He's a lot of things but that's not one of them.'

'You know that's not entirely true.' I say to him. He's angry. The finger moves quickly through the coffee back and forth. Angry lines which fill again as soon as he's made them.

'I know it's truth. You've misunderstood everything. There's nothing you've ever seen and really known. It's complicated. It's not what it seems.' He now slaps his hand down in the coffee then wipes his hand on the front of his shirt. 'He's not the monster you seem to think he is. You don't know him the way I do.'

'He beats you.'

'He would never hurt me.'

I can see the scars on the back of his hands from where Floyd nailed him to a table. I can see the scars on his face… not physical ones, but the mental scars. The emotional ones. They are clearer than the ones on the back of his hands. I touch one of them gently and he yelps and moves them back out of my reach.

'He does hurt you.' I remind him.

'Mistakes. It's all mistakes. He loves me.'

'Then why has he snatched Sam from a secure hospital and taken him somewhere. If it's all innocent, if it's all a dreadful mistake, why won't you tell us the actual truth? Why are you defending him? Why won't you help Sam?'

'Sam needs no help. Sam is not a vulnerable child. He's more monstrous than you could ever imagine. If Floyd has taken him somewhere it's to… it's to teach him… it's to show… it's to help him.'

Too many mistakes Reid. Too many words said which shouldn't have been. 'Where is Sam?'

'I don't know. I don't know if they're together. I didn't ask his plans.' A bit of a laugh there. He looks up at me and smiles. 'Plan… he never follows a plan. If he told me it would all be different now. He could be anywhere. The beach maybe? The Forests? The mountains? He has houses all over this country and all over others. He's not that easy to keep track of if he wants to slip off the map for a while.'

'He's not left the country.' I tell him. I am very sure of that much at least.

'You don't know that. I don't know that.' Reid wraps his arms around his chest and takes a deep breath. 'He could be anywhere.'

'He's not left the country because I know he won't fly and I know he doesn't travel well by sea. Where could he have gone? Mexico? I don't think so. Canada? No again.'

'Well you seem to have all the answers. Can I go now?'

'You have somewhere you're expected? I thought you could maybe…'

Again Reid stands. 'You have no idea.' Tears? Are they tears? I've said something which has shaken him. I ask him again to sit and again he does.

'Did he… did Floyd, when you were a child.'

Reid closes his eyes and those tears are falling down his cheeks but he leaves them there for me to see. He wants me to see how this is making him feel, or he doesn't realise. 'I don't know how many times you have to be told the same thing. I don't know what it is you want. You think he's a murderous… I don't know! I don't know what you think he is, but you seem to have pinned every label on him you can. He's not that. He's never been that and never will be what you're implying. You make me feel sick just having that thought in my head. Why do you have to keep on about this when it's so obviously not true! You couldn't possibly understand what he is. I am only alive because of him. I owe him everything. My life, my very existence is for him and because of him. Don't try to make me say these things you want me to say because I can't and I won't. It's not what it appears.'

'You keep telling me it's not what it appears to be, but you're not telling me what it is I'm missing. A grown man has run off with a teenaged boy. Both have issues in a lot of different and similar ways. There is a close connection between them. I know Sam suffered abuse from people in his past and I know he suffers from it still from Flanders, so tell me Reid, what am I missing?'

'The truth.' Reid says and he's back in that slumped posture again. His hair hanging down and unbrushed. His hands are now on his lap. 'And you wouldn't believe me if I told you. You would say I was delusional and mad. You would assume that I have the same problem as my mother but I know what day of the week it is! I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I've been there and I've seen it and I know it. Don't try to tell me what I've seen isn't real. Don't even try that because you would never understand until you've seen that there are monsters in the dark. You have never had a demon living inside of your head. You've never been to hell and seen what I've seen! Why would you believe such things if you've never seen them. I don't know where Floyd is. I do know that what he does with Sam is not what it seems to be to you. It's not. I won't have you say it is.'

Quite an outburst and I could tell by the further slumping of shoulders that he'd said far more than he meant to. There is for a moment a break. I get someone in to clear up the spilt coffee and fetch and ashtray and something for him to smoke. I needed him calm. I needed him to think I was a friend.

'It's not going to work on me.' Reid informs me once he's lit up and taken a deep drag. 'I was part of this, remember? I know what you're doing. Keeping me comfortable. Making sure I have what I need. I can't give you the information you want because I don't have it.'

I know that he can get it, though. 'Can you contact him?' I watch the smoke drift out of his nose and see that glint in his eye.

'You know he doesn't carry a cell. No I can't contact him.' He starts to grind his teeth and the cigarette is wobbling in shaking hands. Ash dropping on the table.

'That's not what I meant.'

And he nods and puffs some more and presses a finger against his forehead. There's a look on his face which I don't know if I've seen before. He looks smug. He looks as though he's caught me out in something and it makes him smile. 'I see. You don't believe what I tell you. You have no understanding at all. You refuse to listen to me. You have refused to even debate most of what I've said, and now you ask me if I'm a telepath? You want me to send out messages with my mind and ask Floyd where he is? It can't work both ways, Dave. There is either something going on in this world which few understand, or there isn't. I'm not prepared to pick and choose what I want and what I don't.' He stubs out the cigarette and stands. 'I think I should leave. You can have me followed if you want to waste resources on me, but I can tell you, I'm going home. I'm not playing this game with you.'


	5. Number 221

**FIVE**

**Video recording of interview with Sam Trent-Saviour**

_Number 221… 10-28-201? 19.01_

Start.

He is sitting in the corner of the room with his arms wrapped around his legs and his head down. The first two hours of the recording had no relevant information on them, it was mainly Sam having a tantrum and swearing. Recording started once he had calmed down enough to listen and maybe even answer some questions. He refused to sit on the chair provided.

A Social Worker was present throughout the interview and a doctor was on hand.

'Can you tell us where you've been?' I asked him knowing the emotional state he had been in and aware that I had to be gentle with him.

He looks up at me and there is something very unsettling about his expression. 'Up some old whore's cunt. Where have you been?'

'You were being treated in hospital. We would like to know where you have been. Who you have been with.' I had a can of cola. One was offered to Sam but he threw accusations that he was being poisoned and refused all food and drink offered.

He looks up again and pulls his lips back from his teeth. It's the sort of thing a dog would do when feeling threatened. 'Oh my fucking god! What's wrong with everyone? You kidnap me and throw me to the lions and when I escape you accuse me of being fucked by Floyd.'

I rub my beard and sigh. 'I never accused you of that. Has that happened?'

'This is entrapment! You can't do this to me. I'm a kid… oh my god! I'm just a fucking kid and you think I'm a whore! What the fucking fuck! And what if I was? Huh? What the fuck has what I stick up my arse got to do with you? It's my backside and if I want it rammed then that's my bloody business and nothing to do with you. Just because I was with Floyd doesn't mean he was buggering me. He might well have been… and I liked it! Is that what you wanted me to say? You wanted me to say I like it when…'

At this point the door swings open and Floyd strides into the room. 'Get up off the fucking floor you stupid cunt.' Floyd snaps at Sam and the command it obeyed instantly. 'You've no right to question him on things like that. You know how unhinged he is. Leave him the fuck alone and what's that bitch doing in here? Who in the name of holy fuck is that old slut? Sam! To me now.' A click of the fingers and Sam is at Floyd's side and Floyd is grabbing Sam by the arm. 'You take my boy, either of my boys from me again and you will regret it. You'll all fucking regret the day you were born. Understand me? Sam get out and stand by the bike.' There was a pause as Sam left the room. 'I've had enough.' Floyd spoke as soon as the Social Worker had left. 'You want to know about me and what makes me tick, then you ask me. Talk to my boys about this again and you will see my angry side. Make a fucking appointment when I'm not strapped to a hospital bed. Treat me like you want to be treated, Dave and maybe you'll get your answers. Maybe I'll even tell you what this is all about. Perhaps I'll explain it all in infinite detail. I know that's what you want and I know that things are reaching an end. You know where we live. Come round and ask to speak to me. Make a call… Sam answers the phone if I don't, or Spencer will. I'm more than willing to speak to you, but on my terms. Not this sneaky fucking way you've been conducting things and if I ever even suspect that you've been putting sick ideas into Spencer's head then you will see me angry.' Floyd then turned and left.

We allowed him to leave. I think in the end there I got what I wanted. I have permission to speak to him about things. He seemed more than willing. It was a start.


	6. 1404 Giles de Rais

**SIX**

_1404 Giles de Rais. VA_

**Video interview between me, Floyd Flanders, Spencer Reid and Sam Trent-Saviour at their home. Made by appointment.**

This didn't go as well as I had hoped it would. Though I was here to talk to Floyd it seemed at first that he didn't have much to say. Sam was hyped up and Reid looked nervous. We sat in the lounge with the camera set up in front of the fireplace. Floyd and Sam sat on the couch, Reid on his chair and I had the chair from the desk. There was coffee and it seemed that the room was full of smoke. I could smell that familiar smell of bleach which was often hanging around any home Floyd lived it. I asked about that first.

'It's bleach. What's more to say?' Floyd snapped.

'He's been cleaning again. He's an old scrubber.' Sam let me know.

I asked. 'What makes you want to clean so often?'

And Floyd turned his head to look at me. 'You might not have noticed but I have murderous rages which I do on occasion find hard to control. I was actually in therapy once, did you know that? I'm not sure how far back that was now. It's not important. My therapist told me that I needed something to do when rage took hold of me. She, it was a woman and the only woman apart from sweet Emily who I've ever listened to, at least human woman. I'm not sure if her advice was good or not. Anyway, she told me to clean the bathroom whenever I felt a rage building. You know me well enough to know that I do have an addictive personality. I find it hard not to take things to the extreme. Bathrooms are still my first port of call, but kitchens, floors, walls… anything… things get so dirty – don't they Spencer. Spence here knows all about filth. He's very well versed. That's why I clean. It's my therapy. I'm not covering up blood. It's to prevent the blood being there in the first place.'

Spencer was nodding and Sam seemed to be falling asleep.

'It works?' I asked him.

'Works in as much as Spencer is still alive.' He frowned and looked at Spencer and then shook his head. 'Sometimes. Yeah… sometimes he's still alive. I really do find it hard to keep track of what's going on. Sam's stuff… you know that shit he does… it messes with heads. It's destroyed Spencer, confused me half to hell and Sam's falling apart. I don't think it can happen many more times. What say you Sam?'

'I'm in constant agony. You have no idea! Morphine isn't even touching it now. I feel like every bone in my body is snapped and crumbling. My head hurts and my fingernails are broken. I look a fucking mess. So yeah… it's not going to happen again any time soon. I've lost my former glory.'

'You never had a former glory you stupid arse. Get out of here. Go play with yourself in the bedroom. We're trying to tell truths here, not be dragged down by your histrionics.'

Sam left the room in a huff and Spencer moved over to sit next to Floyd. They leaned on each other. Had hands on each other's thighs. They seemed to need each other. It was confusing me. After all the pain Floyd had put Spencer through. All that and he still wanted Floyd? What was it the man had? I decided to change the subject.

'Can you tell me where you're from?'

This got an instant reaction from Spencer who suddenly moved away from Floyd. It was almost as though a danger button had been pressed and he needed to get away. Was it what I said or some invisible message from Floyd? I don't know.

'I'm not local.' Floyd said. 'Look, I really don't see the point in this and I'm damned sure I've been through this with you before. I tell you what I'll do. When it's over – when all of this is finished – I'll arrange to have everything sent to you. All the information you could possibly need. No lies. No delusions. It will be solid truth. How does that sound? In return you have to back away from us now. Leave us to do what we need to do. There's so much about to happen. The end. You see? Too much to prepare for when the end is so close.'

His voice sounded flat. Disinterested. Spencer as not paying attention to what Floyd was saying. Was this a suicide message he was giving me?

'Are you talking about death?'

'What have I said about that? I'm sure we have conversed on death before. No I'm not. I'm talking about moving on. Ending this shit and moving forward and onward. I'm tired Dave. So tired and I can't keep this up. You might say that I'm giving in. I'm not. I'm playing by the rules. I'm not cheating. I will only change one thing and that's purely because I cannot hurt Spencer. I can't do that to him. That's the final betrayal and that's something I've been fighting about for so long – so fucking long. You going to keep all these recordings?'

I nodded at him. I was going to keep them. 'I will use them in research.'

'Not sure what you're going to research.' Spencer muttered. 'You make it sound as though you can heal things and make them better, but you can't. You might like to think you can and you might like to think you know what's going on, but you don't have a clue. There will be no point in research. There will never be another Floyd. I think you should leave. Just go, Dave and read through it all and see if any of it makes any sense to you. You're going to have to have your eyes wide open though… and it might give you nightmares when you realise. You might start seeing monsters in the shadows and feel them in your head. You can't get this close to someone, and you have become oddly close, without the monsters hacking away at your sanity. Ask Emily. She would know. Ask Hotch… See what's happened to Sam. See what's happened to me. Eventually it will get you. One night when you're reading notes in your library at home something with gather in the shadows and you'll see it and you'll know I was right all along. How will you feel then, Dave? How will you feel when you finally see the truth and know what was said was real. You will see it and it will be the last sane thing you will ever remember… Those rainbow coloured puddles you see in the street will suddenly become so much more than you think they are. The howling of dogs in the night… you'll know it's not dogs. You will know that the tapping of rain on the window isn't rain but something asking to come in. You'll realise that and it will be too late because by then you're caught in the teeth of it and it won't let you go. Things like that will never release you. It will bite and bite and people will look at you and see the insanity, but in reality what they are looking at is someone who has seen through the veil we hide things under. You'll never be able to deny it again even though people around you say it's not right. It's not true. They will call you paranoid and delusional. They will call you things you know are not right. They will try to drug you because you scream at the voices in your head, but you see you can't medicate away things which are real! You can't get rid of the screaming of demons or the scratching and nibbling of angels. It's not possible. By then you'll wish you were dead. It's what happens, Dave. And you will see it sooner than you wish.' Spencer now stood and turned off the camera. He turned off the recording and asked me to leave once I'd packed up. He was going to bed… he told me to see myself out and he took Floyd by the hand and the pair of them left the room.

I never got the chance to talk openly to them again.

However, I did get something in the post. A small Dictaphone tape. A message for me from Floyd. I played it the day after Spencer's funeral.


	7. Emily Prentiss

**SEVEN**

Dictaphone message from Floyd. There is no date or place of recording. I have written it out so I can read over it piece by piece.

I will eventually add this to my book. Firstly I will pay Emily Prentiss a visit.

**Interview with Emily Prentiss at Spring Green Psychiatric Hospital.**

She looks well, though I always thought she looked better with her hair long. She looks relaxed, but if that's because of medication or because I am here, I don't know. The room we are in is used for therapy. It's comfortable and has none of the familiar smells or sounds of hospitals. Emily has been a resident for three months.

Today she is wearing black combat pants and a Tshirt. She has nothing on her feet.

'Rossi.' She nods and smiles and picks up the inevitable mug of coffee. Everyone seems to drink the stuff constantly.

'You're looking well.' I lie to her. There is no point in upsetting this fragile person before we have even started.

'You've not come all this way to tell me how I'm looking. You wanted to talk about Flanders? What was it you wanted to know?'

She's straight to the point and that is typical of Prentiss. 'Tell me about him. What is or what was it about him that drew you to him the way he did. Why did he trust you?'

'Trust? He didn't trust me!' She smiles and then sips at her coffee. 'Floyd didn't trust anyone. He didn't even trust himself. Actually I would think out of everyone he trusted himself the least, but he certainly never trusted me. He was interested in me.'

I nod at her, rub at my beard as I think of what to ask her next. That wasn't the reply I was expecting. 'Did he confide in you? Tell you things? Threaten you?'

'Floyd would never have hurt me. He was a kitten. He always treated me well. Maybe his words were not always kind, but he never hurt me. Not like he had to hit Reid. Nothing like that happened between us. He was always – gentle – almost loving. I think he loved me in his own strange way.' This was also not what I expected. She pulls a pack of Camels out of her pocket and lights up. 'A no smoking facility.' She tells me as she waggles the lighter around. 'But it really does calm the nerves.'

'Can you talk to me about the relationship you had with Flanders?' Oddly seeing Prentiss smoking doesn't look any more out of place than seeing Reid doing the same.

'Relationship. It was not a relationship, Dave. He was… he…' She pauses now, stubs out the cigarette and immediately lights up again. 'Reid was… it…' She now waves the cigarette around as though trying to convey a message in smoke. 'Reid was no good for him. He should never have been with that man. There was never any good going to come of it. He would have been so much happier if he would only have admitted that it was me he wanted. But Reid kept him too tight. He – he… reduced him. The jealousy. You see? Floyd would come to me… many nights, night after night and I could smell where he had laid on the bed. I could smell him on my pillows and sheets. I could smell him on my skin, my hands and in my hair. That rich musky smell he carried with him; it stuck like tar to my flesh. I couldn't get it off even when I showered. I could smell him, Rossi… and I knew he'd been to me, touched me and loved me in his own way as I slept.'

This is all part of Flanders. The way he foists himself into the life of someone and slowly tears them apart. Again she stubs out the cigarette and lights another. Only a few drags from each. I wonder if it's the process of removing it from the pack and lighting it that is the addiction with Prentiss and not the actual smoking.

'Did he molest you?' It's something which has to be asked. I need to know if he had relations with women.

'Never. No. It was so gentle, Rossi. So very gentle and loving. It was like you would… I don't know, like I was a treasure he had to keep returning to and touching and… touching and breathing in my scent. It was as though I kept him sane. You know he watched me. He told me he did. I would stand at my apartment window and he would park up his bike and sit there watching me. He was addicted to me. He needed me in his life. He loved me beyond anything Spencer could offer. That's why he never hurt me. Never raised his hand to me. I even feel maybe that he felt I was beyond him… you can see that? I was too much for him to deal with which is why he would go home and slap Reid. He took his frustration out on him because he couldn't have me.'

'Did he ever ask? Did he ever come on to you? Try anything?'

She pulled a face at me and picked up her coffee again. 'Of course he did. Of course and I turned him down. Not because I didn't… not because I didn't want him. I was confused, Rossi. I was confused. I don't usually turn to men for that sort of friendship. But yes he asked on more than one occasion and I turned him down. Said he wasn't who I wanted, but you know as well as I do that he can smell a lie, but he never pushed the point. He backed off. Always. Never forced himself on me. He was gentle. Loving. Caring.' She paused and frowned. 'Maybe a bit of a stalker and he did break into my apartment, but that was not how it seems.'

'So he stalked you. He watched through your windows. He snuck into your house when you were asleep and lay on the bed with you. How is any of that right or loving? I'm not saying you're wrong. I just don't understand.'

'No you wouldn't. You wouldn't. No one would. Not even Reid would have understood that part of Floyd. So tender. So sweet. I would have given my life for him. I would have died for him if he had asked. I wouldn't have even had to think about it. If that's what he had wanted then I would have done it. No second thoughts and no doubts. He wouldn't have asked though, because he would never have wanted to see me hurt. That is why he left me alone. That is why he did what he did. If only Reid hadn't been around. If only I could have drawn him away from that filth! But Reid's claws were so deep, so very deep that there was no way I could unhook them short of killing him.' Another sip of coffee. 'I couldn't have. It would have upset Floyd too much. To see that man cry is the most dreadful thing I've ever witnessed and we've seen some terrible things, haven't we? But seeing Floyd cry… it breaks my heart just thinking about it. I could never get between him and Reid because I could never do that to him. Everything you thought he was… all of it… it's wrong. It's lies. It's not how it seems.' Her voice was no raised and she was crying. I thought it was time to finish our chat. I hadn't come here to upset her. Pry information out of a sick and unstable woman… but not to upset her.

'I'll go now and thank you, Prentiss.'

'You didn't see what I saw! You didn't feel what I felt. You never saw the monsters in the shadows! You never crawled in the dirt for him! I did! I saw it! I did that!'

I backed out of the room as the medical staff entered. That was the last time I spoke to Prentiss.

Was a visit to JJ necessary? I didn't think so. Hotchner was also not available. I wondered if Morgan was ready to talk. I never understood the animosity that boiled between the pair of them. It seemed that I would just hear insults, so firstly I listened to the small tape.


	8. First Steps

**EIGHT**

**Dictaphone message from Floyd.**

Firstly I'm going to have to ask you to suspend or even discard everything which you thought was truth. Nothing which you considered real actually was. None of your beliefs were more than a scratch at the surface, though I will tell you that it's not all false promises and ideals. Some of it was based on other things which are very real. I'm really not sure where to start, but as you wanted to know about me and not the politics of where I'm from then that's where I'll start.

You know – I'm sure you know that if someone tells you something enough then you will begin to wonder if that is truth. That slight doubt will be built upon because there is nothing available to disprove it. Or there may even be a shit load of evidence. Your book sales are proof that some arrogant fuck can actually begin to have that sense of self importance. You know that. It's happened to you. You might well have good books sales and you might well have people coming to you asking for your advice and telling you what a fascinating person you are, but in the end you know that you are nothing. You can spot the sycophants and you will begin to revile those who walk behind you worshiping you. Spencer was a good example of this. And he did admire you and think of you as a celebrity. He was in awe of you and that will rub off.

I'm meandering in my mind, but I need you to understand that the person who is brought down by words and told things all his life will eventually begin to believe it. Again I will bring Spencer in here as a good example. He was never what you saw. Never what anyone saw, except me. I knew the real him… but again I'm going off course. I wanted to tell you that even great beings like myself can eventually be fooled by what they are told.

Childhood – youth… those are times in your life when what is said and done will shape the way you think and feel for an eternity. You only have one shot at it. You can only be that child once and if the wrong images and words are used then that person moves forward in the way he feels he is. I was never a child in the physical sense. I was created and there I was, standing with others like me. A light of glory shining from within because creatures created by the gods are pure. A purity which can last forever or be sullied and ruined. It's an ignorance and a weakness which can be used against you. You really have to believe what you are told because that is the story which builds your very being and would the gods lie to you, Dave? Would they? Can they? Are they capable? Of course they are! And they do. They manipulate to play their own games and the only thing they are concerned about is their own selves.

I was created in The Great Forest. I was always told this. I never doubted it. Why would I? I was given some freedom to do what I wanted. I abused that… except… well I'll talk about that later. Firstly I will tell you what I thought I knew and then I will tell you what is truth. Truth is dangerous. It's the most dangerous, beyond all else. If someone is incapable of telling lies then the world would fall apart. Can you imagine what it would be like if people actually told you what they were thinking or if you could tell if what they were saying was a fabrication or a slight twist? Think of that happening for just a day or a week and then drag that over your whole lifetime. How do you think you would deal with such a thing?

Spencer caught on quickly. He was careful how he worded a sentence. He was careful with his words and what he admitted to me. All of it structured and sorted in that special brain of his. Nothing denied if it was obvious that a denial was a lie. He knew the consequences of doing something like that, but I'm not sure if he ever realised why I was so angered by lies. Of course he knew I didn't like it, I could sniff it out easier than smelling my own stink, but he never took into account that throughout my whole existence I had been surrounded by people who were unable to tell the simple truth about something. One of the reasons I was so good at lying. I was a master at it, because I was constantly being bombarded by it. Only one sort of creature could lie to me and keep it to themselves. The ones who created me. And they were the ones I actually believed the most. It never occurred to me that they were doing what they were. Why would it? I was a naughty little Guardian who had committed a dreadful crime and been thrown away as a result. Except now I know that the crime I was accused of never actually happened. It was not how it appeared. But then nothing ever is, is it Dave?

Once I had been thrown out of The Great Forest I was at the mercy of Them. They had plans for me. They had jobs they needed doing. They wanted to be fed the souls of the people. It was what they wanted me for. I was sent out initially just to kill at random. I had no MO. I just went and did what I was told. An orphan. A sad young creature with no sense and a great chip on his shoulder… and all the while I was being told by those who threw me away that there was always a chance of redemption. I could claw my way back. I just had to follow some simple rules… BUT… but I'm jumping ahead again. I want to tell you more about my last moments in The Great Forest.

o-o-o

Here I stopped the recording. It was once again going to be a mess of his delusions. I found it pathetic that he went to all of this trouble to try to explain something to me. A confession. And then to fall into his own insanity.

He should have been locked up a long time ago. I say that knowing that he had been locked up multiple times and each seemed to wriggle his way out of it. His favourite trick was to fake his own death, allow his _friends_ to mourn him and when they were at their lowest or maybe when they were beginning to come to terms with it, he would step back in again and restart. There is a scattering of graves over the country with his name etched on the headstone. Places Reid had gone and knelt and cried and grieved for him. I've seen some of those places. How many unmarked graves are there? How many in different countries with different names has he been buried under? Though it's obvious he was not actually buried under any of them. All a trick. A con. I would like to meet the others involved. He couldn't have carried out this farce for so long and not have someone to assist. I know Spencer did. I know that Spencer covered for his crimes. Washed up blood… lied for him. I know he did but always it's the problem with proof. When we did manage to get some, somehow it disappeared again. He talked his way out of it. Bribed someone somewhere. Money was never an issue with him. Where that money came from he never said. Did we even bother asking him?

The next part of the tape is meant to explain his hatred towards Derek Morgan. Again it's just his delusional mind and his paranoia, now knitted together with racism.

o-o-o

**Part Two of Dictaphone message from Floyd Flanders.**

I remember that I was sitting alone in my breechclout and some grass plaited through my hair. I'd been inspecting my fingernails and wondering what the day would bring. As far as I know that's what I was doing. There was no blood on my hands and no reason for me to suspect that danger was brewing. There were birds singing… a blue sky and a very special smell to the air. I didn't know what it was at the time… and thinking back at this moment over my own personal eternity I can tell you that it was a smell of deceit and danger. Something was watching me.

They called out my name and still I had no idea what it was I had done… I'd only followed my natural instincts. I'd been given freedom and I'd used it. Why wouldn't I use something which the gods gave me? Why not? It would have been wrong not to. Alia and Fello had been tracking me and now they stood there in front of me with their superior looks and angelic glow at full force. They told me that I had broken a sacred law. I had gone against all that was and will be. I was to be discarded as a fault. Thrown away. Handed over to Them for punishment.

Obviously I tried to run. Which fool wouldn't? The let me. They allowed me to run from them for hundreds of years. I had no rest. I never stopped my continuous howling and cowardly run. I did learn from that. I learnt never to run away. Never. I thought I was delaying what was going to happen. I thought that by running that I was going to stay in The Great Forest for longer and enjoy the peace, but there was no peace. No animal or creature there would come close to me. They would spit and throw nuts and sticks at me, but they would not give me somewhere to rest. Never. All I received for all of those years was constant abuse. The story of what I had done rang in my ears. Every time I stopped to rest or take my breath I would hear more of what I had done. Killed something. Raped something. Eaten it when I was finished. I had actually committed the worst crime. But still they didn't stop me. They let me run and scream and howl and feel that nothing would come close in case it caught whatever disease of the brain I obviously had.

They caught me. Well it wasn't so much as they caught me, as I gave up running. I turned around and walked back to where I had seen them. I went back to that place where Alia and Fello had told me I was going to be punished and I went to my knees and I begged forgiveness. I pleaded with them. I lay on my belly and supplicated myself to them. I lay there begging until my throat was bleeding, until the plant life began to grow over me and my fingernails were claws digging into the ground. I begged like no creature had ever begged before. And they listened. Of course they did. They had to listen. It was their job. They demanded a confession. They insisted that I needed to tell them every small detail of what I had done and my story was confused and muddled and really nothing I could remember doing, but I must have done. A million other creatures said I had. The Angels said I had. The gods said I had. So I confessed to them. I lay there and made up some bullshit story and said I had done it and said I was sorry. I said that word so many fucking times! A constant dirge. A chant if you will. A litany so meaningless that I might as well have cut my own throat. I never understood why they never accepted my apology. I never really understood why I apparently did what I did and had no memory of it. I never understood why they allowed me to run and finally return. I understand fully now. It's all in clear primary colours. It's so bright and so sharp at the edges that at first I wondered if Taki Otikami was somewhere in my head painting this… But no.

As I lay in the leaves, Fello knelt on my back and ran a finger down my spine. Alia stood on my hands. Maybe I could have escaped them, but I had surrendered and there was nowhere to run to. No safe place. Fello was tall… he was dark skinned. He was very much in appearance another Derek Morgan, though Fello had no tattoos. He was dark voiced and the glowing dark brown skin… I'd never seen one of us with that colouring before. He was special. He had a special job. He grabbed at the place where my wings were growing on my back and he tore them away. One pull was all it took. It was like having your spine removed. It was like having your body sliced in half. I screamed for a thousand plus years and Alia took my wings and burnt them.

I've rules. My own set of personal rules and ways about me. Things which I do or say because of how life treats you. Never say _sorry_… it's meaningless. I know that. The word means nothing. Never run… retreat or back away, but never run from something. Face it. Face the fuckers. Do what you have to do, but for fuck's sake don't run from it. Never return to a place if business has been done. I can twist that. I can manipulate that if I need to. But it's a shitting bad idea. If you leave a place, don't for the love of the gods go back. You could lose your fucking wings for it. It's not worth the damned risk. This applies to whores. Never repeat a paid deal. Never. I go on my knees for no man or beast unless it's for pleasure or unless it's to garner favour and that favour is actually possible. Don't lower yourself to try to reach their level. Don't touch me unless I've given you permission. You have no idea of the reflexes I have. I will kill you if I'm taken by surprise. If I think it's a threat. Don't you fucking well doubt that!

o-o-o

Again I paused the recording. It was an interesting reason for his dislike for Morgan. Unfortunately it was just a story in his sick head. He had to give himself reasons for what he did. People who are this sick and dangerous should be helped. They should have people working with them to sort through the rubbish and pull the truth out. I would like to be able to say that all that happened and all that Flanders did was his fault. Now I listen to what he is saying, I don't think it really was. He was sick and he spread that sickness around like some viral contagion. I need to dig further and try to work out how he pulled so many tricks. How was it actually done? I want to know how he latched onto Reid and why he did to him what he did. It wasn't as though Reid was good looking or had any special traits, except for his brain. Could it have been that Floyd needed Reid to use? Was Reid all part of the con? Was Reid even aware of that? Did he assist Floyd with the tricks and sleight of hand knowingly or was Floyd watching him and learning? Was that why he became so close to him and refused to let him go? Was Reid all part of this delusion and to let go of Reid would mean that he would no longer have that to fool us with? I can't imagine it was for his looks. Reid was tall and overly thin. There was no muscle contour on his body. He usually looked ill and his personal style was dated and almost childish. I don't want to say it, but was it the childish nature that Reid had that Flanders liked? I will come back to that later.

I have a diary which was posted to me. I don't know where it was from or who posted it. The postal mark is smudged and I've tried tracing it back to no avail. I received it the day after I received the Dictaphone message from Flanders. It's a diary written by Reid. It spans several years. There are pages missing and a lot of crossing out or even bits removed maybe by a sharp craft knife. Things he didn't want anyone else to see but he felt he needed to write down. Before I continue with Flanders wild story, I will go through some of Reid's thoughts. I need something other than pure fantasy to read before I sleep. I'm really not sure I will find it on Reid's pages.


	9. Reid's Diary

**NINE**

**Pages from Reid's Diary.**

Wednesday: I hope I've done the right thing. My heart has been pounding all day, but Floyd says it's what needs to be done and now it is. I hope Mother forgives me. I just couldn't cope any longer.

Friday: Floyd is taking advantage of the privacy we now have. He's not moved in, but he might as well have. He's here most of the time. I've got a headache. Papers are due. I can't study with him breathing down my neck. I know he's trying to help, but this isn't. I need some space from him.

Monday: Wiped out. Weekend was… I don't even know what my head is trying to tell me. I've had to take time off from study. Too tired to even think. Phoned Mother. She was sleeping. Lost my cell phone again. That's the forth one in two months.

Wednesday: Not sure what's going on. Problem with the bank. They keep returning my payments saying I've already paid. I know I haven't. Need to go down there tomorrow. I don't have time for this mess.

Thursday: Dear god. I had dreadful nightmares last night. I wish Floyd was here, but he's gone off on his bike somewhere and he never carries a cell so I can't contact him. I've had the lock changed on the front and rear doors. I've also made sure all the window locks work. There was something here… I could smell it. Even when I woke up I could smell it. I'll get someone to the house to check it out. Maybe there's something rotting. It smells like a dead animal has crawled behind the walls.

Friday: I've torn the house apart. Can't find where the smell is coming from. It's making me feel sick. I'll have to call someone in. I guess I can afford to. I just don't like strangers walking around my home, poking into my secrets. They might find something.

Monday: Slept for the whole weekend. Didn't wake at all. Can't believe this! The smell is fading, but the house is a mess. Need to take time off study to clean up. If Floyd came home and saw this… There I go! Thinking he will be back. Thinking of this as his home too. I wish he would come home though. It's been only a week and I miss him so much that I get palpitations just imagining him never coming back. Consider going to the police and reporting him missing. How silly is that? He's a grown man.

Sunday: I've a split lip and a lump on the side of my head. Good weekend! Floyd is home. I thanked him for returning. You see scenes like it in old movies where the woman is on her knees begging her lover not to leave and you see her hands grabbing at his pants and crying. I always thought that was a disgustingly degrading thing to do, but I still did it. He says he's going away for a few years! I can't get my head around that. It seems as though he's always been here. Mother is gone (father long gone) now all I have is study and Floyd and he's going too. Everyone leaves in the end. I must be a disgusting person.

Tuesday: I've got marks up my arms. I've been pinching myself. Helps me concentrate. I have to wear long sleeves and I've started putting my watch over my cuff to remind me not to roll my sleeves up. There's a couple of small scars. Very small… but I did them with a blade. Sometimes you have to see blood to make sure that you are still alive.

Friday: I just found this diary at the back of a drawer in the bedroom. I'm moving house. I've got an apartment. It's a relief to get away from the house. Too many memories. Good and bad ones! Not everything is bad. I'll be sad in some respects, I guess? A new start. A whole new me! Still getting headaches though. Went to the doctor and he has given me some pills to take. I'm more than happy to do that if it means the pain will go away. He knows I panic because of Mother. He says there's nothing wrong with me. I'm not sure I believe him.

Sunday: Nightmares again. Most nights now, but last night was different. I was sure when I woke up that I wasn't alone. New apartment. New life. Same old sleep problems. And a smell again. Not like those years ago when it was as though something was rotting, but more like someone had been burning incense. Maybe a smell from next door?

Friday: Been here less than a week and someone has decided that they will damage my front door. Deep scratches in it and a smell of urine. Great. I thought this was a secure building. I've checked with security downstairs and it seems no one broke in. No strangers. Though I have to say that they looked at me strangely. Like I was imagining it. I know what I saw and could smell.

Monday: Met the team I will be working with. They seem nice. Nervous though. I know I keep spouting nonsense and facts and I'm getting funny looks from Morgan. I will settle in. If Gideon thinks I can do this, then I can. I have great trust in him and his opinions. He's like the father I never had. This will work out well as long as I can keep myself together. Keep my secrets.

Sunday: Went out last night. I don't need to tell my diary how that went. I feel disgusting. Had a hot shower. Took some of those small pills from the doctor, but healing my headache isn't going to stop that feeling of filth. Can't wash that off. Cut my arm. Have to wear a small bandage on it and make sure I've got my watch on.

Wednesday: Dear god. What have I done?

Friday: I'm not sure I can do this job. The things I have to see and witness are not things a normal person would have to. Being nagged to get out and join the team for after work drinks. Can't do that. Can't. I need to get ready and go out where I will fit in. I need something to take the edge off the pain in my head.

Monday: Hurts to sit down. Satisfying pain though. One I won't be sharing with the team. I'm tired. No nightmares to blame though. I've got a grazed knuckle. Told Hotchner I scraped it on the wall. Not sure he believes me.

Friday: More pills from the doctor. Look at me! I'm even lying in my diary now. Unless the tall guy in leathers at the bar was a doctor… I don't think he was. Beside the point… they take away the pain. I can think, but I look tired. They've noticed it at work. I laughed it off, said I always look like this.

Monday: Damn. I'm sure they noticed something. I was talking too fast. Butting in and saying anything which came into my head which was slightly relevant. I'm all over the damned place. Can't concentrate. Wondering if those pills were what I was told. They've removed all pain, but I'm jumping at every sound. I need to cut back.

Tuesday: Took the day off work. Nightmares again. Woke up in my own vomit. Not very nice. Old childhood memories flooding back. Dark nights and someone in my room. I had said I would cut back on these pills. I know I shouldn't be taking them, but if I don't I'll fall apart. I just need to know in advance if I need to give a blood or urine sample. Talking of urine samples – someone urinated on my door. Probably same person as before. Looks like they stood there relieving themselves and smoking. Not sure what I've done to deserve this.

Thursday: Went into work and was sent back home again. Gideon drove me because I'd gone into work on the train. I'm a mess. I know I am. I just need to keep the reasons for that away from him. I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want to be a failure. Not again.

Friday: I didn't go out, but Jimmy came around to see me. Said he had something for me. I needed to turn it down, but I felt so ill I couldn't. I still don't know what this is I'm taking. What an idiot. Jimmy stayed the night. We both drank too much. I paid him. I paid him for the pills. I gave him a bit extra. Not sure if he noticed that. Payment to a friend. He kept the bad dreams away for a night.

Monday: Seems Jimmy did notice the extra cash I handed over. Word has gone around. I never used to be bothered by that sort and now I am. Not sure what to do. If I didn't have the job I did it wouldn't matter so much, but I have to keep this quiet. I can't let the team know about this. I paid the voices to stay silent. They took it as more and I seem to have started something I never meant to. Jimmy is spreading the word. I want to shout at him and tell him to stop, but he's my supply of pills. I can't upset him. I know I said I would stop taking them, and I will, when the time is right. Came home to find more scratches on my door. I've complained. They said I probably did it myself when coming home drunk!

Tuesday: No pills. I'm going to have to say something to someone because I spent a couple of hours in the bathroom vomiting down the toilet. Can't do that at work. They will become suspicious. Maybe if I just take half of one on weekdays.

Wednesday: New case.

Friday: Was away from my pills for a few days. I thought I was going to die. Never again. I can't do this. I need to sort myself out. I've booked a couple of weeks off work, vacation time. I'll book into somewhere in Vegas and sort myself out, visit Mother… see my old haunts. Maybe that's what I need to do. I'm drinking too much. Someone keeps phoning me and when I pick up there's no one there. I have a feeling it's Floyd. Not sure why I think that, but the idea that he's contacting me is making me feel ill. Why now? Why when I'm trying to get my head to work properly? I miss him so damned much! I hadn't realised it until the phone did that.

Sunday: Spent yesterday crying. What a fool I am! Floyd is long gone. Why would he come back for this wet idiot? He wouldn't. He's got someone else.

Friday: You might notice that there's some pages missing. I tore them out. I had kept careful note of what happened in Vegas and decided that I don't need that written down. I don't want to have that reminder. I've been to the clinic to be checked out. All OK. I'm such an idiot. I took the time off to sort my head out and I've come home even more confused. Didn't visit mother. Time went too fast. Much too fast. They will ask at work. I don't know what I'm going to tell them. I don't know if they will check up on me. I feel like a child. A stupid child who's going to be caught out in his own ridiculous lies. I find it hard to lie to command. If it's for someone else it's almost impossible, but I'm perfectly able when it comes to covering up what I really am.

Sunday: Again I say… I'm a fool. I have an extra hundred bucks. What a damned idiot. I can't believe I did that. I buy some books. I'm going to stop writing in this for a while. I keep reading it back and it's making me feel sick. I will never sort myself out if I can't move forward.

Monday: (the day has been crossed out) I'm back to this again. After all that time. I'm right back where I started. I killed a man. I am telling myself that it was self defence but I'm not sure it was. My face was the last thing he saw. I was the last person he spoke to and he asked about his mother. There is absolutely nothing to describe how I am feeling. Tobias gave me something special. He offered me something to remove all that pain… everything was gone. Yes I had strange dreams but they were nothing compared to what I was having. If I was straight in the head I would never have been stupid enough to go out there in the field. He would never have done that. How many long will it be before I kill someone in panic and they're just an innocent child? Tobias was sick. I know I am! Do I deserve to die to?

Wednesday: I cut my wrists. Sat in the tub and wanted to die. But here I am again! I can't even kill myself properly. I've a month off work. I had been drugged by Tobias. I need to be clear. Obviously they're doing blood tests on me and obviously it's showing up things I shouldn't have in my system. Thank goodness I can use Tobias as an excuse. He would have killed me. He would have. At least give me that bit of peace?

March: More scratches on the door. Another puddle of urine and this time cheroot butts. I don't know what to do. No point in reporting it. I call someone to get the door fixed and repainted and then cancel it again. Someone has been in my apartment. They've had a drink of coffee and they've been in my bedroom. I can smell it on the bedding. A book has been left open on the arm of my chair. I know I didn't leave it there. I wonder if it's real. Maybe it's not. So much isn't. So much you see and hear is not real. It's a loop of nonsense playing in your head… continuously playing. I found something alarming under my pillow. Can't talk about it here, but… but someone is watching me. Obviously! They've been watching me for a while.

May: I've stopped injecting in my arms. Can't risk it. Started between the toes. Awkward but worth it. It stops my heart pumping so fast. Stops… stops everything for a while. I even wondering if I care if I'm caught. Do I care if I lose my job? I don't think so. Right now I would rather live on the streets than have to face the team.

July: Floyd is back. Not properly back though. He's leaving me messages. Leaving me drugs. Leaving threats and promises. He says he's coming back to me. Is that good? I have no idea any more. I don't have a mind of my own. I walk around in a daze and somehow get around it by looking busy. Prentiss has noticed. She's said things. It's the way she looks at me. I shouldn't care, but she's an outsider and she's noticed something is wrong where the others accept that I've always been like this. I have. Doesn't mean there's nothing wrong though.

August: Doctor. Booked MRI. I think I have a brain tumour or something. I feel like I'm going to die. Taken a month off work again. I'm off more than I'm there. Gideon has gone. Left me a letter which made me so angry… so angry. No one could understand. I went out and sold myself for twenty bucks. I know… I know I'm stupid. You don't have to keep reminding me.

April: Not sure what happened. My brain is in a constant fog. It's OK Floyd's here. He loves me. He will always love me. I know that. Might have to keep this hidden though.

May: Didn't hide it too well, did you Babes. Interesting diary. Whore. You filthy dirty little junky whore boy. Love every inch of your sick and depraved body. If I could I would strip you of your skin and wear you close to me forever. At least I would if you didn't have syphilis. Keep taking the pills, Babes!

June: Seems he found my diary. No secrets from him. Not that I need any. I love him.

July: Thought he'd broken my nose, but it's just swollen. I do have a broken finger and bruises on my neck. Damn him… damn him…

August: New favourate game. Choking. Glorious! I will deny that if he asks. Nothing quite like it though. Deadly game. So deadly. I only play it with him because I know he'd never hurt me.

October: My favourite month of the year, but Floyd tied me to the bed and left me for a couple of days. Very dehydrated.

December: Wanted to visit Mother. Floyd blacked my eye. I didn't go. I've a cracked rib. On Antibiotics. Drinking too much. Smoking too heavily. Not injecting though! Taking little blue pills. Much safer. Happy Christmas. I bought Floyd a bottle of whiskey. He threw it at the wall. Then threw me at the wall. Not the best Christmas ever, but better than Halloween.

(there are more pages removed at this point)

The days of the week and the months… what do they matter any more? I am what was always predicted and I've become my mother. I should be locked up. I should be shot. I should die. I wish I could die! I cut my wrists again. I'm still alive. That's my life. I'm sore and miserable. I'm confused and so in love that it hurts my soul to think about it.

I really don't care what is going on with Sam. The gods know. They know the truth. Really they do. Don't they? They'll look back at what life I've had and know. I watch them. It's erotic and disgusting. It makes me feel too hot and sweaty. It makes me feel sick and I pinch at myself and wish I could be part of that sick union. There is nothing I hate as much as I hate Sam. But I adore him too. How can I not? Floyd obviously loves him. I'm just mistaken. I'm not seeing things as I should do. Maybe it's loss of blood or brain damage, but if Floyd loves something then there must be something there I'm missing if I don't too. I watch Sam closely. I watch his every damned move…..-

What the fucking fuck? Oh look! Spencey has a fucking diary… see that? That's my nose I just wiped on it. Stupid fucker… What's he said about me? He watches my every move? Well he wasn't watching when I walked up behind him and took this precious book from him. Poor poor fucker! What a dirty little whore boy! A bit of slimy filth who watches me… I should be flattered, but it just makes me want to puke… you don't want to know what I just wiped on his pages, but some of them might be stuck together… hang on… I'll draw a funny picture…

Sam got my diary. I've removed some pages. The boy if revolting.

o-o-o

I put the book down at this point. I need to consider all that was written here. I don't believe that we really missed all of the signs.


	10. Dictaphone Part 2

**TEN**

**Dictaphone message from Floyd **

**Part 2**

I wasn't sent to hell. Not initially. I was dragged to The Great Grass. Most everything in that place was Great something or other. For good reason usually. The Great Grass is a huge and endless (almost) expanse of the greenest grass you would ever fucking see! It could blind you… I guess it could blind you… if you pulled the grass and stuffed it in your eyes. Yeah… it could blind. Imagine you are facing South – in front of you is a small and shallow river, not much more than a forest stream and beyond that river is the beginning of The Great Forest. If you stand at the end of the river you can smell it. Behind you in the far distance would be the mountains… black and jagged, made up of lost souls. Either side of you would be that endless grass as far as you can see. It's a peaceful place. It's the home of The Old Woman. The Mother of All. The Giver of Life and Death. The Wise One. The Lover. The Creator of Many. The Watcher. The Divine. I can very safely say that she is the only woman I've ever loved. The only person who has slapped me and I've not hit back. I wouldn't. I couldn't. She is My Mother. I owe all of what I am to her. An ancient god with long white hair and a purple Kaftan. She didn't give birth to me. She's not Mother in that sense at all. But she is still the only woman I have ever thought of in that way. She needed to talk to me and discuss my very shaky future. Give me all my options and let me know what was going to happen. At that point I'd never really been given much of a Guardian job. I was still young. Ruined it seemed and young and not able to stick to anything for long (except running away and I gave up on that too) and she sat with me on the grass and told me what a fool I was and how sad I had made her. She plied me with guilt and reminded me that whatever happens in the future, I would always be what I was created to be… no, not a complete bastard – I know what you're thinking – I was created as a guardian.

Now I have to explain what that job means. It's not some little flower petal sitting on your shoulder and keeping all danger away from you. It's nothing like that. Though that is occasionally part of the job it is by nowise all of it. A guardian not only protects people (not all… certain people) but will also protect particular events. Important things which have to happen and if it looks like it's not then we are there to enforce it. We cause wars. We cause death. We make sure that all the pieces are in the correct place. We don't just guard people. We guard great political events. Things which have to happen. They must happen if the world is to move onward. The wars have to be fought for a certain bit of technology to be thought of and invented. Drugs for the cure of disease… all manner of things. It's endless. If that bastard war mongering cunt hadn't killed thousands of people then another event would never have taken place – we are there to ensure that the events go as they have been set.

Of course there is the protection of people too. That's all a part of it, but comparatively a very small part. I suppose you want to know what my business was with Spencer? I had to make sure that things happened. I had to be sure that he joined the BAU. I had to make sure the Gideon left so that you could join. It was to you I was going to tell my story to. Had Gideon still been there I would not be doing what I'm doing now. As for Spencer – He had a job to do and I had to make sure that until he reached that point in his life that he was kept alive. He did what he was meant to do. He caught the UnSub and that part of the game ended. Spencer had done the one and only thing which only he could have done. Tobias. Spencer Reid was created and protected so that he would be the broken and twisted thing who broke under the pressure. It was what was meant to happen. Once that event had passed there was no longer a need for him. It was already a surety that Spencer wouldn't muddy the pond and have children. He was the final… the end of the line. There was no one and nothing beyond him. There was no need for him to still be around. My job had more or less ended. I was told to dispatch him a few years later. I refused. That was when the trouble really started. I had and never did have any intention of killing Spencer. I might have hurt him. I did hurt him… but it was the sort of pain people like. I would never have killed him with my own hands. It was a task I was not going to do. This however meant that the guys who had sent me that job now were angered. I was not really working with the lot from The Bastion… I worked via The Old Woman… a creature who at first I could only reach if I died, or came very close to it. I managed, possibly by the amount of times I went to visit her, to be able to take an easier trip. She wanted me to do my job. I understand that. I was looking for redemption. I was looking to be forgiven and throughout most of my journey that has been my goal.

However I was also working for the other guys. The ones who wanted mayhem for the sake of it. The ones who wanted death dealt and wanted me to grovel. They didn't want me to finish my tasks and gain that redemption. They wanted me to fail… and so I did… endlessly. Repeatedly. Continuously. I failed. For every good thing I did a million things I undid. I wasn't able to take that final step and when things were going as they should and I went to The Old Woman to ask what was to happen next, how close was I? I had to start again. A loop of trying and failing.

I don't want you for one minute to think I'm after sympathy. I happily killed men I had loved in the past. Happily with no thought. I could easily move on. It was never a problem until I looked back or was forced to look back and see exactly what I had done. That took hundreds of years though. It's not something I often thought of. It was done. Can't go back.


	11. Opening Notes

**ELEVEN**

**The Last Case.**

_The Story of Floyd Flanders._

Opening notes:

Not a typical serial killer. His MO was not consistent, though he usually did tear into the bodies and either remove parts cut some flesh away, this was not always done. There were a lot of cases of broken necks but again this was not always how he would kill someone. He didn't stick to a particular race, age group or gender, though it is noted that the majority of cases which it is suspected he was involved in involved street workers or drug addicts. This changed completely if it was Reid he was killing to protect. There were no barriers. Even children were killed if they were in the way of what Flanders needed to do.

Though it was never proven, it is strongly suspected that Flanders was a paedophile. This was because of his un-natural attraction towards Sam Trent-Saviour who was aged around sixteen years old. Being able to press charges and keep them in place was impossible. Floyd denied all accusations and actually seemed revolted by the idea, but we do have evidence that in at least one instance, where he had killed the parents of two young children that he stayed in the child's bedroom and masturbated. Why he would have done this is still a mystery. He had never until this point shown any interest in females or children. This forced us to believe that there were no morals which Flanders could or would stand by. If you remove all sense of wrongdoing from a person, you are left with a monster. It was suspected by a few that he was a sociopath, but that was a misdiagnosis.

Floyd was raised in Southern Italy, but travelled with his family around Europe, spending a lot of time in Hungary, Romania and then England. I have also been told that he spent some years in both Poland and Ukraine. He spoke with a slightly clipped and well educated Southern British/English accent. What happened to him when he was in Europe has never been fully revealed, but Sam also spent time there and he has spoken of his experiences. If they came close to what Floyd experienced then maybe there was a reason for the way his mind worked.

I'll not accept that he came to America with the Pilgrims. This is something he insists upon but I know is not truth, obviously. It's part of the delusional and imaginary world he lives in. I don't know and never will know the full truth of when he arrived. There is no record of immigration, but I should also point out that he didn't always go by the name of Floyd Flanders. He was also known as Floyd Franks, Floyd Franco, Floyd Flanders Franco and Floyd Franks. He was also known by the name of Isgar Quenelle, though the spelling for doesn't remain consistent. There is note that he has even called himself The Flanders Mercenary. I've not been able to pinpoint the moment he first came to America. I have very promising information that he was born here. Probably on the East Coast, which was the place he always seemed to want to go back to. There are papers registering Floyd Flanders Franco, First of March 1982. There is no other note of this person. This is the closest we have ever come to finding a birth registered to him. Unfortunately that date seems to age him too young, but so far it's all we have.

If we accept that some of the childhood memories he has are truth, then we have to try to understand that he was abused since he was a very young child. His main parenting figure was Louis Iolanda (Louis Iolanda Franco or Jules Iolanda Franco) who had said that he was Floyd's brother or maybe a cousin or uncle. It was never known for sure what genetic ties they had, though the did seem to share some physical traits. There never seemed to be a mother or father figure for Flanders as he was raised in the clan.

As Flanders grew older and was able to move away from the clan, he found himself without something to ground him. His mental health was deteriorating and his temper was becoming uncontrollable. Flanders was an alcoholic and drug dependent. He has admitted numerous times that he is cannibalistic, but we have never had proof other than his own 'bragging' that he was. It's quite likely that it was just something said to make him look more dangerous than he was.

He certainly was part of Reid's life from when Reid was a child. How old Flanders was at this point I can't say. He didn't seem to age or at least kept his age well. Part of his mental health problem was the belief that he was there to care for Reid and keep him safe. To do this he had to eliminate all other contenders. It is thought (annotation needed) that William Reid had sexually abused Spencer and so Flanders 'encouraged' him to move away using the ill health of Diana Reid as an excuse to go. The failing health of Diana gave Flanders access to Reid and allowed him to start his grooming process.

Both Reid and Flanders deny that any grooming took place, but as a professional I can see all the signs. The relationship the pair of them had become suffocating for Reid who on occasion ran away to escape the constant pressure from Flanders and the turmoil of living with an ill mother. (Dates of Reid's disappearances need to be added here.) (Flanders would like us to believe that Reid had been with him during these times, but was never fully able to tell anyone where they had been, so this claim is unlikely especially as it is thought that Reid was trying to escape Flanders' constant manipulations.)

Flanders was incapable of emotions which a normal and well balanced person would feel. During interviews he stumbled over what to say when emotions are involved. He's unable to explain or admit what he felt about someone. Or he will emulate what is going on around him to appear to fit in. (Flanders was tested for autism, but the results were negative). He didn't seem to care what other people were feeling or was unable to empathise with them, failing to notice pain or happiness in someone else and not able to react appropriately to anger or friendship. His inability to balance these feelings correctly led him to not understand friendships Reid might have had. To prevent mistakes (in Flanders' mind) being made, he halted all friendships Reid formed. If Reid didn't step back from the person, Floyd would threaten them or completely remove them (case notes on various unsolved murders needed here).

Initially Flanders was cautious about what he did and what he allowed people to know about. He was able to keep his paranoia and his delusions close to himself. He never spoke of them aloud, however as drugs and alcohol took a stronger hold, his ability to control what was going on in his head became weaker. He reported that he could hear voices. He listened to them and responded to them. Reid also reported the same thing. Whether he really did or if it was something Flanders had done, we don't know.

What we do know, for certain was that Flanders was a sexual predator and a sadist. We know that he frequented male prostitutes. We know that he enjoyed violent sex. We know that he liked to see others in pain and often used asphyxiation on his sexual partners. We also know that Flanders would protect Reid from any danger. We had visual evidence of the distress Flanders felt when Reid was injured or in trouble. Floyd would not permit anyone near Reid when Reid was ill. He would sit and guard him almost like a dog. He never seemed to sleep or had trained himself to sleep lightly and with his eyes open. Likely a deep meditative state rather than true sleep.

**Flanders' Children.**

As far as can be ascertained, he had three natural children. The first one that the BAU became aware of was a girl named Princess. Though I wasn't around at the time and there is no photographic evidence, I have been told that the child appeared to be ten years old, was violent, possibly psychotic and had facial deformities. It seemed initially that Flanders used Princess as a lure to get Spencer to do what he wanted. However further research has pointed towards it being something more insidious.

It was far more likely that Flanders used his daughter, as a weapon. He obviously had feelings toward the child, but it's unknown if there was physical abuse. Flanders actually seemed to dote on the child in a way not often seen. Princess disappeared from the scene once Flanders had manipulated Reid to the point that he couldn't walk away from him. Once the child was no longer needed she was discarded.

There are some reports that she died at the cabin owned by Jason Gideon, other reports mention her a few years later when there was a series of kidnappings. I should point out that the kidnapping of various children was also something to do with Flanders seeking out his offspring. We do not know where the child is now. There have been no further reports of her and Flanders never mentions Princess.

When someone who has the mental health problems that Flanders has, the denial of the existence of something you find hard to cope with is very common. Flanders seems to do that a lot.

Rosa Flanders was known by the team. Another young girl who Floyd protected with the same ferocity he protected Reid. Again this child disappeared and Flanders rarely mentions her. Emily Prentiss once admitted that Flanders told her that the child was dead. If this is so then it seems to follow a pattern of using a young girl as a lure or weapon. A shield. There are no records of Rosa's birth or death, which is not really surprising.

Sam Trent AKA Sam Trent-Saviour was a teenaged boy. It was constantly denied by both of them that Sam was actually Flanders' son. However Flanders also said on numerous occasions that Sam was his Spawn and had even said he was a clone. Looking at that statement from a professional angle and knowing the paranoia and delusions Flanders had, it's obvious that Sam was in fact Flanders' direct offspring. This now adds yet another tick to the list of boxes which add to Flanders' diagnosis. It was known that the two of them were in regular sexual contact with each other. Sam was, like his father, drug dependant and overly sexually active. Sam was also very emotionally immature and damaged. The matter of under-age sex and incest didn't seem to be something Flanders was going to admit to. His constant denials that Sam was his direct genetic off-spring allows us to conclude that he was lying to protect himself, but not his child. There are taped interviews with Sam Trent-Saviour where he speaks of his background and the abuse he had suffered. I will record that here later.

As you can see from above, Floyd Flanders had three children. None of them lived to adulthood. Whether the death of his younger children caused some of the problems with Sam is unknown.

**The Clan**

The Clan was the travelling group which Flanders belonged to. Flanders has said in the past and it is on record that he was once the leader of these people. Why he left is unknown but most likely it was his failure to lead a group of people. Flanders had mastered the art of controlling one person, but because of his chaotic lifestyle he was unable to follow through with plans of action. Being a leader of a group of over a hundred adults and children would have been a problem to him. Though there is little proof of this, it is highly likely that Flanders was expelled from the group for either his uncontrolled violent temper or because of his failure to act upon problems within the group. Iolanda had a loyal following of a few hundred. Flanders had one, and two on occasion. Also worth noting here was the matter that The Clan carried weapons. Flanders never did. Though Reid had hinted at a reason for Flanders never being armed, it's assumed that Flanders preferred something more personal than using a weapon.

**Flanders' MO**

We could look through the history books at unsolved murders and place each one comfortably on Flanders. (Unless long range weapons had been used.) This was the main problem when profiling a case and seeing if it fitted Flanders' MO.

There is circumstantial evidence that Flanders killed for different reasons and depending on the reason, changed his MO. Sometimes he appeared very focused and clean. He had admitted that he liked to break necks, though actually placing evidence that he did is not possible. He never leaves trace that it was him. His other MO is when he seems to lose control and tears into his victims even pulling out the hearts and livers and eating them, or at least eating parts. Again we have been unable to pinpoint evidence for anything, yet we know it is him. He never denies or admits to an incident if confronted by it. He will attempt to twist what is being said and manipulate the questioning to his favour.

Strong suspicions that Reid knew what Flanders was doing and assisted in covering his tracks, by cleaning up blood trace and giving false alibis. This has never been proven, but was always suspected. Though Flanders would abuse Reid physically and mentally if someone else attempted the same, Flanders would protect with murderous ferocity. What we have never understood was why Flanders felt this need to keep Reid so close. It doesn't fit in with the rest of his psychological profile. Flanders was not someone who could form relationships or friendships, so what exactly was it that Reid had which caused Flanders to react the way he did when Reid was involved? It couldn't have been love because Flanders was unable to feel that sort of emotional tie to anything living. He also had strong protective instincts towards his motorcycle but completely lacked respect for anything which was not his own, though he constantly demanded it from others.


	12. Document

**TWELVE**

**Personal Notes.**

I would like to add at this point that being so close to Flanders and Reid for such an extended period of time seems to have altered my own self-awareness and sense of what is truth or lies. I know that I have been concentrating and investigating this case for years now and it has taken its toll on me as a person. I have nightmares. This is not unusual when you have had the job I did and when you see so many horrific things, but that never did to me what being too close to Flanders seems to have done.

I know from records that Reid suffered from nightmares and I wonder now if it was proximity to Flanders which caused this. I also know that Reid suffered from visions and hallucinations. This too, I am going to put down to his closeness with Flanders. I thought at one point, when this first began to focus less of BAU and more on Reid that it was because of his head injuries. I suspected that he was back on drugs again. I had those suspicions confirmed. How Reid got away with covering up his addiction is unsure, but I'm certain that Flanders had something to do with it.

I've noticed too that I'm drinking more than I used to. Always a glass of red wine at my side as I'm at the computer. Always when I'm cooking. Always when I'm watching television. My coffee drinking habits have changed too. I drink far too much of it, too late into the nights and it's far too sweet. I don't know why this has suddenly happened.

Yesterday I bought a packet of cigarettes. I've not done something like that since I was a young man. I'm not sure what made me do it. It was some sort of odd compulsion. It makes me think of both Reid and Prentiss and their sudden uptake of smoking. It must have something to do with Flanders and though I know he is dead…

I know he's dead. We have the evidence of that. We might well have missed out on a lot of things, but we do at least know that much. I was part of it. I was there. I know. So why do I feel I am being watched. It's a very odd feeling. It's not as though I am being watched through the windows, like Prentiss had said, it's not that at all. It's more as though someone is watching from inside of my head.

I had been out for the day with the dogs when I returned someone had been in my home. The alarms were set and there was no sign of a break in, but the dogs refused to come into the house. I've had to arrange to have them kennelled until I can work out what it is spooking them. They became aggressive. I don't want dangerous dogs in the house. Someone had helped themselves to a drink of coffee and left the mug in the kitchen sink. I was tempted to have it sent off for testing, but then wondered if it was my own mug. Had I forgotten to wash it and put it away? It seems unlikely, but I can't see why someone would break into my house just to drink coffee.

How can you possibly explain things which logic dictates couldn't have happened? I know that I had left the computer turned off when I went into town. I know I did. I am very sure of that. I never leave it turned on. Yet it was flickering the screensaver when I returned. There was nothing else in the house which shouldn't have been there. Believe me, I checked and then I double checked. There was nothing. I found that I was locking all windows and pulling the drapes. That feeling that I was being watched intensified… now it was double… inside of my own head and something out there. A shadow on the lawn… a skittering shadow. It was most likely a bird flying past the lighting down by the pond. It must have been that. The affect was alarming though and if Reid had seen such things it could explain some of his fears of the dark and his claims that monsters lived there. Fortunately I am not going to fall for things like that, be it intentional or not. Everything can be explained. Maybe not today, but eventually it will all be shown to have been Flanders playing tricks on the minds of those he could get close enough to.

It wasn't until I actually looked at some documents I had saved on the computer that I saw that something had been added. Not a file I had downloaded. It had been created on my own computer.

**Sam Leaves a Message.**

Well the fuck? This is some fancy arsed shit you have here. I thought it would be full of secrets but it didn't take much to break through your password. Really Rossi, I thought you could have been more imaginative than that. The name of your favourite dog? Really? I would have laughed had it not been so funny – that makes no sense, but you get the drift. I read all the shit you have on here and I need to make some things clear to you. I don't like the way you are going to portray me in this book of yours. You make me sound like a right skank and I'm not like that at all.

Everything has a meaning, you know?

Like the fuck? Oh my fucking god! You are sick! Floyd is not my dad. But that said, if he was I'd still let him fuck me because he is really good at it. Much better than Spencer who really is the wrong size for me and very unimaginative. Don't know what Floyd saw in him at all! I guess when he was a little kid he didn't know that he was going to grow into such a plop of a person. But I need to tell you about me and not moan about Spence even if it's really fucking annoyed me! For the fuck? You can be such a cunt, can't you? It was never like you've tried to say it is. Never like that at all.

I was always Floyd's number one. That never changed. He loved me beyond all else. There was no part of me that he didn't love. Every scar and every inch of me. He loved the bones of me and the same can't be said for Spencer, who he didn't love as much as he loved me. Because you see? Floyd trusted me! He let me loose and let me be almost my own person (some rules had to be kept – always) but I always got what I wanted in the end and Spencer didn't, so you see? It was me he loved and not Spencer because I am part of Floyd so I knew all the secrets and when you know all the secrets then you have something on that person and they will protect… protect better than you did with that stupid password. (Still can't believe how easy that was!) (but then I'm a genius far beyond even Spencer who was often confused by what I said because I had abilities he could only dream of and was really jealous of and he hated me for that reason only.) (Maybe not that reason only. Perhaps other reasons too, but you can't help the person you're born to be can you?) (Unless you're Spencer. I'm sure he could fucking help being a limp dishrag most of the time.)

Anyway… back to me!

There are things you need to know. You have to wise up and understand how shit works and I'm going to give you a very short lesson on what the fuck is going on and why it is and how it was and why it will be again. The gods are plugged in like you would recharge a phone. They need to be plugged in or you can't get a message to them and they can't get a message to you. They have to be connected, but not with an actual wire… Don't think I mean that because I didn't. I was an _example_ so you, who has a very closed mind, could understand what I'm getting at. Each and every god (and there's more than you could ever imagine) needs that energy to stay in contact. Keep praying Dave! Keep praying… your god loves you! He really does. You are his food and water. You are his fuck in the park. You are his very life. Without people like you they fall away and stop talking and it all becomes a very empty and worthless life and some of them say 'Fuck this, I'm going someplace else to be loved and adored and have my toes sucked.' And then it's really hard for that god to come back again because if he's not talking to the people then they don't talk back and he becomes forgotten, like that cousin of yours who you never contact because you lost his cell number and then he moved house and Reggie is never going to come looking for someone who don't give a shit, now is he? No Reggie is going to go find new friends to play with, (and he died last year and you didn't even fucking know… now I bet you feel like a real shit, don't you?) and those new friends fill that space which was lost.

So you have to pray to your god to keep him interested. No one's going to sit around if they're being ignored. You understand that, don't you?

What I'm going to say now might shock you, but you're more likely to just think I'm talking bullshit because I know you well enough to think that you are a tosser of the highest degree and won't listen or think outside of your fucking box… a lead lined box at that. Nothing in and nothing out. But I'm going to tell you anyway… Some creatures, not the gods, but other things, they just need to be remembered. They need their name to be said… their real name, not the one they were known for and because of that… you see where this is going don't you? Because of that you can recall them… draw them back to you and virtually ground them. You can haul them back from their prison and give them the breath that they need to be what they are again. In turn that creature can call on the gods or god which created it and wake it up, show it what it's been missing and then really all hell will break loose.

So… firstly I need to say that I was born in hell. I'm a soulless and lonely creature who was only made to entertain Floyd. That's all I was and all I'll ever be. My Great Intelligence is a by-line. It's not important. I can do really fancy shit because of stuff which happened and I can use that to twist time and shift the reality, but it takes a lot out of me and I don't much like doing it too often. Maybe never again.

You need to stop writing this book. You need to stop with the names you've used. Change them. Use something else. For fuck's sake don't call Floyd by his name. He will be able to latch onto that and right now he's held by The Old Woman and everything is safe. He was never what he thought he was. Not fucking EVER was he what he thought. And now he's nuclear and about to explode and he will destroy the world. Don't trigger that destruction. Don't fuel him, Dave… you have no idea what you're doing here. Leave it. Forget it. Go have therapy or something because as cathartic as this might be for you, it won't bring Spence back. It won't bring back the Floyd you once knew and I don't want to walk this world alone being this half thing I once was.

I was going to wipe your hard drive, but I've a feeling that you save everything to fancy places and will just bring it up again and anyway you have all this information in other places and I can't track it all down. So I'm just going to have to warn you… Keep this shit up and release the names and what happened and you will bring on disease and wars like you would never live to see the end of.

Just sayin'

Sam xox

o-o-o

Sam, if indeed this was Sam, has done something to my computer, or at least to the document he has added. I tried to delete it, but he has put a protection on it with a password I can't begin to guess.

There I am talking nonsense, which seems to be something I'm doing, thinking and saying more and more often. This couldn't have been Sam. I don't know who would have broken into my home just to do this. It's ridiculous. In a way I'm almost glad that I can't delete it. Here I have proof. I have proof that I'm not imagining things. Someone has been in my home.

I get the locks changed. I get new locks on the windows. I have my alarm checked and double checked. I have new security cameras put up outside the front and back. I even consider moving house, but how can I allow my imagination and my nightmares to over-take my life like that? I can't. These are hallucinations brought on by thinking about Flanders too much. My dreams are encroaching on my waking life. This I suspect is what was happening to Reid. What happened to Hotchner. What happened to Prentiss. I will not allow it to happen to me too.

The advice given to me via that strange diatribe from someone calling himself Sam had though, it has forged its way into my mind. I did think I was being watched and now there is proof that I was.

You might not remember, but at the end of my back yard, which is mainly turfed, is a pond with fish. Something happened to them. I don't know what. I've called in someone to have a look, but the fish are all dead and the water is contaminated by something. I don't know what, but samples have been taken. I will find who vandalised it. The loss of a few fish isn't something that I'm going to lose sleep over, it's the fact that someone got into my yard and avoided the security. Why does this sort of thing feel so familiar to me? Why am I externally blaming kids in who live in the area, and internally blaming Sam… blaming Flanders… even blaming Reid. I know I'm being unreasonable and not my normal logical self, but the thoughts are there anyway and no amount of red wine is going to take them away.

Whoever put that message on my machine planted seeds with roots so deep that I don't know if I'll ever be able to remove them.

I would like to talk to Hotchner about what he thinks really happened, but I know that the subject will bring back too many horrific memories of what happened to Jack. Now I have no proof that Flanders killed him or if Reid had any knowledge about it. None at all. Of course he was questioned and as always there was an alibi and Reid standing at this shoulder insisting that it couldn't have been him. Who else could have done such a thing to a young boy? Who else but someone who tormented Hotchner about the boy and attempted to push himself into Jack's life. The case still stands open. To tear through the few barriers Hotchner has put in place would be cruel and thoughtless. Yet to understand Sam… who Hotchner had a deal of contact with, to understand Sam who had that intimacy with Flanders, then maybe I will have to. Perhaps if I present him with my evidence he will have to see what really happened. Maybe it will help him move forward. It's not always standing still and accepting that enables us to move on. Sometimes we have to confront the pain and drag ourselves out the other side. I will invite Hotchner here for dinner. Delve a bit. See what he has to say about the matter. It's important that I see all sides of this, no matter how much that will hurt.

It sounds as though something is knocking on the window… small stones… there's nothing there. My imagination. I can't sleep. Too much coffee. Too much going on in my head. So much I feel I'm missing. I have to find out how Flanders did the tricks he did with the locks. That will be the step I will take after I've talked to Aaron.


	13. Samsaweel

**THIRTEEN**

_1888 Birtley Hill: The home of Aaron Hotchner._

I invited Aaron Hotchner to my home for dinner, but he declined. I therefore went to his home. Hotchner, for many reasons, isn't the man he once was and I would comfortably blame Flanders for this.

The evening started off somewhat awkwardly. I was loath to point out the few grey hairs Aaron had or the way his smile never reached his eyes. He was a broken man. Broken for a reason and though I should have backed off and I shouldn't have discussed these things with him, I felt it important to get it done.

I spoke to him of the book I was putting together. I explained it was a long way off. I had a lot I needed to piece together and get it to feel right and I asked him for his help. He refused. He seemed to know what I was going to ask and he said he wasn't interested. I did however ask him to read the notes I had made. I had a special selection I would like him to read through and tell me if there was more I should add or if I was wrong anywhere. I didn't show him my doubts and fears and I didn't show him my thoughts about Jack. I needed it to come fresh from Hotchner. I left him with the work I'd put together so far… mostly notes and crossings out and additions in the margins. I went into his rear yard and smoked a couple of these disgusting cigarettes. I didn't feel completely safe there. I checked security, made sure the outside lights were on… tried not to look too deeply into the shadows.

I could feel the tension in the air when I went back into the house. There was a thickness to it would I find it hard to describe. Aaron was sitting on his couch, the papers I'd given him to read were sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He stood as I entered the room and asked if this was some sort of joke. Was I serious about this? What the hell was I thinking? I tried to reason with him. He had close contact with Sam and I needed to know more about the boy. I was asked to leave. He pushed the papers back in the manila folder and told me to leave his house. He said that he had been through enough pain and he wasn't recovering from it or pulling himself together and nor was he going to come out of it the other side. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with the book or the research and had no intention of discussing it with me. He picked up my jacket and passing back the folder, showed me to the door. Again I asked him to just think about it, but the door slammed behind my back.

Hotchner would have been the person to talk to about Sam, but if he was not going to talk then there was little I could do about it. The only other person who had been connected to the case who I could maybe talk to, was Garcia, though I know she had no contact with Sam as such, she did have access to the computers and might be able to give me information which I had missed before. That had been my intended next port of call. I changed my mind when I saw that a letter had been taped to my front door. The handwriting was messy and I wasn't sure if I recognised it. It wasn't the clumsy and childish handwriting which Reid had and it wasn't the over fancy and messy cursive style Floyd had. It had my name written on the front and had been written in ink.

**The Letter:**

_Dear Dave,_

_You're just not getting it are you? I know you read the last one I left you so why are you still doing this shit? Want me to burn your fucking house down to stop you? Do you need me to come to you and talk to you in person about this? What the fucking fuck is your fucking fuck of a fucking game? Leave it. You'll never understand the answers and you're not even asking the right questions! _

_Thanks_

_Samsaweel Trent-Saviour – (Giver of Light in Darkness)_

o-o-o

I read this once and wondered if it was time to call the authorities. First a break in and now a threat. I knew that Sam could do nothing. Sam was not able to do anything. This was just my imagination. The reception I had received from Hotchner had obviously upset me more than I had thought. I left the letter on the kitchen counter. If this was my imagination then in the morning it would be gone.

I had nightmares. They didn't wake me. They kept me in a dull and empty dream of despair and I awoke with my heart thumping in my chest.

The letter was still there. I therefore filed it away with the others. Maybe I needed to go back and see if I had missed anything. Watch the tapes again. I had obviously been watching but not paying full attention. At this point even the matter of how Sam had signed off his name was not sinking in. It just seemed like something fanciful and silly. I wasn't even sure if that was Sam's handwriting. It was very loopy but carefully written. Almost like a disguise of some sort. Maybe that's what it was. Someone playing tricks? But who would do such a thing? I was going to see if I could get someone in to clear out the pond and replace what had been damaged when my doorbell rang. Why I felt so nervous about answering the door… maybe the nightmare was still lingering there somewhere. Maybe it was the note which had been left on my door? I didn't know, but as it turned out it was Hotchner. He had decided that he needed to say all he knew. He even permitted me to record it, but he made me promise that this was the one and only time he was going to go through his thoughts and what little proof he had of things with me. Never again.

We started the afternoon off with drinks in the rear yard and just relaxed and though I desperately needed this information out of Hotchner I also wanted him to think that he was giving it over without any pressure, even though both of us being well trained in asking an listening for answers, we both knew that this was likely going to be a strange conversation with a lot of barriers up in place.

We went inside to the lounge and ate salad and steak and we drank coffee and I smoked a couple of cigarettes which got a strange look from Aaron but no questions. Was he filing it all away? Was this even something worth taking note of?

**Chat with Hotchner.**

'Nothing was ever as it seemed.' He tells me. I ask what he means by that. What wasn't how it seemed? 'Firstly the business with Reid. He was apparently chosen by Gideon, but now I wonder if that's what really happened. Who pointed Gideon in Reid's direction? Who had been whispering in his ear? It wasn't how it seemed. Maybe Gideon didn't realise and I don't think that Reid knew for the most part – at least in the beginning, but the choices made and the direction people went in were not just coincidence. Nothing happens like that. It was all set out and manipulated. Flanders had his foot in our doors before we even knew that Reid existed. This might sound ridiculous, but that's what I feel.' He picked up his drink and took back a long drink of my best wine. 'Someone showed Gideon the way. Something was there pushing and guiding from the beginning. Had no one had influence over anything then Reid would never had been accepted into the BAU and if he had, he wouldn't have stayed long. But someone was there making decisions which we couldn't see because the idea that Flanders was there pushing the buttons and manipulating us before we knew… it's the only way I can see it happening. Reid should have failed his evaluation. They should have seen what he was… how he was… yet they never did. He passed each and every one up until the point he voluntarily stepped away.'

I pointed out that this was not possible. Flanders would have had to have had his fingers in the whole process. It couldn't have been done. No one had the access. It seemed to me to be a ridiculous idea, and yet again what was the answer? Was this one of the questions which Sam had said I wasn't asking.

'Evidence from the labs was altered or removed.' I inform Hotch. Not that it had anything to do with the manipulation of Gideon or Reid, but because this was something which was rarely touched on, and it was another case of fingers being in pies.

Aaron gave me a calculated look. I could see that he was deciding what to say and what to keep to himself. He ran a finger around the rim of the glass and then put it down on the side table. 'Flanders could not have done that. I think it more likely that he had access to one of the technicians. That isn't what you wanted to talk about though, was it? I thought it was Sam you needed to know more about. I told you that I don't want to play your games. I don't want to have to think about the lab results and our failure to catch that monster.'

'Sam then.' I spoke gently. Maybe too gently for Hotch who was aware of my vocal strategies and maybe that was something I was going to have to be careful of. Aaron was far from a fool and my pacifying tone wasn't going to work on him.

'Sam. The boy with the rose scented tears. This needs to be made note of. His whole body had a smell of roses. It lured you. Lulled you. Pulled you in and forced something upon you. I'm just not sure what that thing was. Security? A feeling that you had to help him? Had to hold him? It stopped… I don't know how, but it seemed to pull every sympathy string available. His constant need to be loved. His questions… his need to have that confirmed. I don't know why I felt the need to help him.' Aaron shook his head. 'It was like a drug, Dave. Like a damned drug. Not one you needed to keep taking, but one which made you drunk… made your senses unhinge. But all the time it was happening it went un-noticed. As for Sam himself… you want to know what I thought of him? What I still think of him? They are very different things and I've been thinking about that since you left. On one hand he was the abused and neglected child who had never been loved, never been cared for, never had someone to think about what he needed. He was drugging himself to push that pain away. He was a very sad and lonely child who had no social skills and had never been told that he was more than a whore. His sense of self was zero. There was none. He was like a feral child. Raised with animals. I felt sorry for him. I thought I could help him. I thought I could offer him security and love of a sort. I thought he needed clean sheets and a flushing toilet and a cooked dinner and toast for breakfast. I thought new clothes and a roof over his head would cure him and obviously I was wrong and I don't think that was really what I was thinking. I place those feelings on that smell of his.'

I raised an eyebrow at this. 'His smell?'

'Did you never notice that smell that Flanders carried with him? That deep and dark smell of dirt which covered that heavier scent of musk? That was Flanders' smell. His poison. He choked our senses with it. Manipulated with it. If it was natural or something he physically put on his skin, I don't know, but I do know that he could force our hands with that. Sam could do that same. Different results because Sam had different needs. He didn't need to get away with murder or rape or whatever crime it was Flanders was committing. What Sam needed to do was force people to like him. It worked. To a degree it worked well. Not for long though. His personality seemed to cancel out the effects of the drug.'

'So you think he was using some chemical to alter your moods? Or your…'

'Emotions. It was to tweak my emotional bond with him. To force me to put up with his extreme behaviour and still feel that I could help him, which of course I couldn't. In reality he didn't want my help, all he wanted was a place to sleep and a home to destroy. He succeeded in that at least. Now I look back on it, things are different. I don't think of him as that poor child who needed help. He was a leech. A creature who sucked every emotion or feeling you had. When he was done with the nice and the good feelings, when he could feel that there was nothing else left to offer, then he flipped and harvested the bad. It didn't matter to him what it was as long as he had extremes. It was what he needed. I just don't know how or why. I would never fall for that stupidity again. He was far from the innocent and abused victim. He was evil – and I don't use that word lightly, Dave… I mean it. He was a drug dependant young man who manipulated everyone around him to get those emotions he needed to see or feel. He sold his body. He was a whore. We both know that. That's where he got sex from. He didn't need someone to love him to get that. That's not what it was all about. Two very different things. Sam was everything bad about everyone and in some ways I would name him before Flanders when it came to danger. With Flanders you knew. Everyone knew. We might not have been able to stop it, but we knew and we could monitor and watch and rein him in when we could. Sam was for the most part, ignored. We over looked him because our attention was on Flanders. I feel that was one of our biggest mistakes.'

'I always felt that Sam was just a follower. Nothing more than that. Trouble and not a very nice person, but evil? I've never heard you talk about someone like that before.' I was shocked. This was so unlike Aaron that I wondered if this had been a mistake. I should never have approached him about the book.

Hotch gave Dave a small smile. Nothing that reached his eyes. It was a horrible imitation of the smirk Flanders would often give. It was cold. A hostile expression. 'As I said. We were looking in the wrong places. It's as though Floyd set everything up for Sam. As though it was all – a stage – an act so that Sam would have somewhere… I don't know. That sounds wrong, I know how it sounds, but at least with Flanders you knew, or at least usually or maybe thought you knew what his limits were. Does that make sense? It's easy to look at him and know that the man would kill anyone just because he was bored or someone was standing in his way or didn't look right. With Sam there was never that feeling. Never. Yet he was just as likely to do the same. We just were not looking. We were too distracted by Flanders. I really feel that had we been looking at Sam then we would have had something to catch. The boy was intelligent, but he also had no filter for what came out of his mouth. Getting him to talk would have been easy if only we had listened to what he wanted. Provided it. Given him what he wanted and he would have been feeding out of our hands. He would have told us everything and we would have the evidence to bring Flanders in.' Hotch stood now and walked a circle around my coffee table. He paused and looked at my mantle which lacked the family photos or anything personal and then he turned to look at me. 'I have even wondered if it was Sam who did that to Jack. He was showing interest in him. Looking at his toys and asking questions. Too many questions. Maybe it was jealousy. I do have doubts though that it was what we thought. What happened, Dave, it was beyond all reason. It was so far beyond that it's just some abstract vision. Floyd's MO… all of the different things he did. All of the people who we suspect he killed… not once was there a child unless his life was endangered. He never just killed a child. Jack was no threat. Jack was off the radar in that respect. Yes Flanders had threatened him a very loose way, the gifts, the promise of getting to know him later… but that doesn't fit in with what it was suspected he did. I don't think it was Flanders. I think it was Sam who used Flanders as his own distraction. He was angry with me. I wasn't giving Sam what he needed. Jack was more important and so Sam took him away.'

This made sense. A mad sense. It was wrong… Sam do that? Impossible. 'Evidence?' I asked.

Hotch sat down again, shaking his head. 'Nothing. Not a thing. My home was searched. Flanders home, his van… everything was searched. Nothing. Nothing was found because nothing was there and Floyd kept saying that he never hurt Jack. Maybe he was telling the truth.'

'Maybe, Hotch, you're just trying to find reason where there was none?'

'Perhaps. That could be. But I still think that we underestimated Sam. He's far more than he appears to be. More than he will admit to. He wasn't that child he let us think he was and he would constantly remind us that he was older than he looked. Flanders said it… even Reid said it. Maybe it wasn't a cover up. Maybe it was Sam all along.'

It was a theory I wasn't willing to take on. I was set on writing this book about Flanders. I didn't want to be told that it should all be about Sam. That's not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about Flanders. The one we knew had done these things time and time again and now Aaron was trying to put doubts into my head.'

'Sam first arrived on the scene long after Flanders let himself be known. You know this.'

Again he's shaking his head. 'No… we knew of Sam later… that doesn't mean he wasn't around. We were just attributing all inconsistencies to Flanders because we didn't know about Sam.'

Nonsense. Complete nonsense. I turned off the recording machine in my pocket at that point. Aaron was not going to tell me what I wanted to know. He was as mad as the rest of them! Flanders had destroyed his brain and not only destroyed it, but was even after death trying to change how things were. 'Sam would have been too young.' I tried to point out.

'Age… age? You think age has anything to do with it? I've seen the shadows, Dave. I've been there. I've seen.' He then stood, finished his wine and walked from my house, leaving the door open behind him. I stood and watched him drive off. I stood there in the porch and watched and wondered if I was the only sane person left. Out of all of us… was I really the only one left who could see what had really happened. Tricks… drugs maybe, but sleight of hand and trickery. That was how it was done and I needed to find out a way to prove it.


	14. Junk Yard

**FOURTEEN (junk yard)**

Can Flanders destroy things even in death? I feel that my life is falling apart. The nightmares, the drinking (which for now I have under control) the smoking which I certainly don't have under control. What Aaron said about this being about Sam… and the messages I've received so far being from that very person. It makes a man wonder if he's been wrong all along, as Aaron said. Floyd was maybe the distraction and Sam was the one we were meant to be watching. Could we have got it so wrong?

The night after Aaron left I had more bad dreams, though this was much more personal and intense. I was sleeping in my dream, but not in my bed, but on a sandy beach. Sam was there hunkered down next to me with that look on his face… that sad and lonely look which he seemed so well at showing. I reached out and he yelped and jumped back away. He clothes seemed to morph from being jeans to a pair of tatty cut offs. He sat back on the sand and spoke with his mouth not quite in sync with the words I could hear.

'Do you love me?'

It was constant. A drone in my ear. He left no room for an answer and the more I wanted to tell him that I didn't the louder his voice became. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest and sobbed. His words echoing around the beach and tears, so many tears which flooded his face and dripped onto the sand making it wet.

If that had been all… if it didn't feel as though he had trapped me into a dream for hours and not just a minute or two then I would have said it was just a dream. Just something which was brought on by Aaron talking about Sam's need to be loved, but there was water on my bedroom floor and what looked to be grains of sand. I sniffed that water… fool that I am. I got down on my knees and could smell roses.

How much had been a dream?

Had Sam really been here?

There was no one I could talk to about this, unless there was a point in talking to Prentiss again. Had she seen something too? Had this been happening to her? Talking to Aaron had been the wrong thing to do. Talking to Prentiss would be too. Not again.

What happened was enough to unsettle me. Someone was playing tricks, that was sure. I've said all along that all this mystery is just a trick… nothing more. I did go to church though as it was a Sunday and sat at the back wondering how much would have to be done to rock my faith. I stayed sitting there as others knelt and I stayed sitting there during communion. It felt wrong. Something inside of me was breaking and I needed to pull it back together again before I became the same as Reid. Whatever that was he finally became. It wasn't who he had been.

I thought that my book was going to be about Flanders. It's irritating that Sam seems to have encroached more than I would have liked. What I need to do is talk to someone who knows how to get by electronic security and pick locks. I have to prove that Flanders was a fraud. He was nothing but the con man I have always considered him to be. Getting to talk to people who will assist me in proving my point is not easy. I have asked several people who we have locked away if I could speak to them and they all decline. A magician won't show his tricks. It's irritating but I can't offer money and they won't talk to me unless I have something concrete to offer them. I have nothing. For now that line of enquiry is closed. I will have to follow up on something else.

That something else came a few days later. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was something other than the brick wall I'd come across. I slept without the interference of nightmares or dreams. I slept through my alarm and I woke up with a headache and a strange dryness to my mouth. It didn't worry me at the time, but thinking back on that, I now wonder if I had been drugged in some way. I felt as though I had a bad hangover even though I'd not been drinking enough to have caused that. At least I don't think I had… but yes, I now feel that I had been drugged in some way. I just don't know how it was done. However at some point in the night or early morning, someone had been in my house. They had drank coffee, smoked cigarettes (just the ash was left. The butts had been taken.) and they had eaten pizza. The coffee machine was filled and running. The remains of the pizza on the kitchen island. Someone had made themselves very comfortable while I'd been sleeping. It was now that I called someone. This was not my imagination. I wanted to know who had been here. Oddly security cameras on the outside of the house showed nothing. Fingerprinting in the house showed smudges of something but no full prints could be found. There was nothing except what the intruder wanted me to see and that didn't include a face. I was told to upgrade my security. Change all my passcodes on everything and to get my locks changed again. Make sure everything was double locked and bolted. I still had no idea how someone was getting into my house. Was it via the front door? The back? Through a window? I had no idea. I found myself putting bits of tape over all the locks. Small pieces which wouldn't stop anyone, but would let me know if the lock had been tampered with. Being uncomfortable in your own home is a gut wrenching thing. You should be able to lock doors and know you are safe. I thought about moving out for a while, but I wasn't going to be pushed out by some fool who thought it amusing to do this.

The following night someone left the shower running. The evening after that I found cigarette ash in an ash tray in the lounge. Again I called someone in to check things and again there was nothing. It was suggested that I was sleep walking or doing something without realising. It was suggested that I visited a doctor to talk these things over. They were implying that I was losing my mind. What I did was employ private security. I wanted cameras which were outside of my property, looking across the street at my house. This is what I arranged, but I have to admit that it was with some hesitation. What if it still showed nothing? Was I really losing my mind? I also had a few hidden cameras put inside the house to show exactly what was going on in the night. If it really was me then I would know.

**On Camera.**

It was two nights later that something happened. Again I personally witnessed nothing. I slept through the night again over sleeping and again waking with a headache and dry mouth. This time I was sure I had been sedated in some way, though I felt nothing strange before going to bed the night before. However someone had been in my house again. The kitchen had been used. The coffee machine was loaded and there was a rinsed but used mug in the kitchen sink. Even if I had gotten up in the middle of the night and done this, I would never have left a mug in the sink. I checked out the house cameras and then had the outside cameras checked just to verify what I was seeing. I finally had proof that someone had been in my house and it wasn't my imagination.

Outside. A motorcycle was seen to pull over and park outside my house. I immediately thought it was Flanders as he was the one who loved his motorcycle, but the person caught walking away from it looked wrong. The film was grainy because it was dark, but it was enough to see how this person was walking and I was sure it wasn't Flanders. Because the helmet was kept on it was not possible to see a face, but this person walked to the side of my house and crouched down in front of the double doors which lead out of the kitchen and into a small side yard.

Inside. This person enters my home, walks to the coffee machine and still with his helmet on prepares coffee. I see that he's got gloves on too. That in itself would have been unsettling enough, but then when the coffee is ready he takes a mug from the mug tree next to the machine, pours in coffee, adds sugar and then turns to look at the camera I have hidden next to the pasta jars on the shelf. He then removes the helmet and looks directly into the camera. He even moves a gloved hand and pushes the pasta jars away to get a better view. There is no sound, I can't hear what he says, but I can tell what it is by the way his mouth moves.

'Do you love me?'

He then stands and drinks the coffee and rinses out the mug, places it in the sink, puts his helmet back on and leaves the way he entered.

It was Sam.

Not the Sam I remember. This was an older person by maybe a few years. He looked slightly taller, not as skinny and his face was slightly less childlike. It was certainly him though. There was no mistaking it. I don't know why he let his face be seen when he could have kept the helmet on and kept me guessing. He wanted to be. He knew that the cameras were there. There was no sign at all that someone had come in through the kitchen doors apart from the tape I had put there was dislodged. I had my proof. Now I needed him to be stopped. It was now that I reported this to the authorities. I wasn't going mad. Someone was trying to make it look as though I was.

But why? And why Sam? What did he want and why didn't he just come to me and talk like any normal person would… and there lies my answer. Sam is not a normal person.

Now I have my house watched. I need him caught. I need him arrested and charged. I need to know why he's doing this.

I wait. Now that I know what is going on I can rest back and be prepared. He will visit again. I am very sure of that and actually I have to wait three nights before he shows himself again. He's not stopped. He's permitted to enter. I'm certain that he'll not do anything harmful, but his bike is tagged. We will be able to locate him. Find where he's crawling back to after each visit and then he will be confronted with the evidence. We do need to know where he goes back to. I need proper answers and not some fabrication Sam is willing to give me. I've looked again and over again at the short clip of him looking into the camera and I see nothing kind or gentle there. It's spiteful. It's maybe sad and even slightly deranged. But it's Sam.

**The Arrest.**

I wasn't there when they picked him up. I kept out of the way. I didn't even know the location they were going to, but afterwards found out that it was a scrap metal yard on the outskirts of town. Preliminary investigations started as to the legality of the business. So far as they knew at this point, there was nothing untoward going on there at all. It was as it stated… a scrap metal yard. He was living there in a mobile home and employed a couple of mechanics to deal with the physical part of the job. Sam was dealing with the money.

I was permitted to stand and watch the interview with him, but he knew I was listening in and watching. He kept glancing up at the window I was standing the other side of. He was dressed in dark jeans and a Tshirt with a faded logo across the front. His hair was long and tied back. I could see again how his face had changed. Matured. He no longer could be mistaken for a boy. This was someone who had already arrived or was on the cusp of adulthood. It was the way he sat which was so much Sam. The defensive arms wrapped around his chest and the way his head tilted forward and he glared upwards at the people asking him questions.

Officer. 'We have evidence that you were in Rossi's house.'

Sam blinked and licked his lips and nodded very slightly. 'I need to talk to him. I don't need to talk to you. You've nothing to do with any of this. I have to be able to talk to Dave.'

The Officer spoke again. 'You don't deny it?'

'Where's the point in denial if you have evidence? I'm assuming from the cameras he had everywhere? He knew I'd been in his house. He knew it. I wasn't hiding. I just needed him to believe.'

'Believe what? That you're a burglar?'

He lifted his head and looked directly at me. 'I've stolen nothing but a couple of mugs of coffee. I'll pay for it if he's so broke he can't afford it. I've got money.'

'That's not the point. You broke into his house. That is a criminal offence.'

'Screw you. I said, I said I don't want to talk to you. It's David Rossi that my business is with. I know he's listening to this. Why can't he ask his own fucking questions? What's he hiding for? Scared? Afraid of a boy? What's his fucking problem? Why is he denying me? What's his game?'

The officer left the room now and Sam sat again with his head dipped. I was asked if I would like to attend the interview. Was I going to press charges? I was. I was going to press charges. I'd have no one breaking into my home. Sam's reasons would not be enough for me to change my mind. I did go into the room though, with coffee for Sam and a sandwich. The sandwich was for a reason. I needed to see what he did with it and it really was no surprise.

'Dave! Thank the gods. I have to talk to you.' He looked at the sandwich and unwrapped his arms and prodded it. He did pick up the coffee and sniff at it before taking a sip. 'It's important.' He then hissed at me. 'And somewhat private. We don't need these fucks in here. You know I'm not dangerous. You know I'd not hurt a fly. I'm the victim. I'm the one who needs protecting. I've not done anything wrong. You invited me into your house.'

I shook my head at him and watched carefully. I could also smell a faint scent of flowers. 'I didn't invite you in. You let yourself in.'

'But… well, maybe that time I did, but you did invite me in. You just don't maybe realise that you did. You called to me. You virtually fucking screamed my name! How can I ignore that? I can't. It's like being sucked down into a dark hole and dragged through tar by a length of barbed wire. It's not a good feeling you know? What you did to me… nothing good there, Dave. But you did call to me. With your head and with your mind… you called. As did Hotchner… he was crying my name in his sleep, but I could avoid him. He's thinking lies and I'm not going to be accused of shit I had nothing to do with. Not now and not ever. I never fucking hurt any bloody one. I'm innocent except for helping myself to coffee. What's the fucking fine? I'll pay it. I can't stay here all day. I have to get back to work. I've a business to run and I have to make sure the guys come into work and do what they're meant to do. They're slackers. Give them a chance and they throw it back in your face. They were unemployed before I took them on. They were fucking nothing and what thanks do I get for paying a good wage and giving them hope? Fucking nothing. I get slackers and cunts who think I'm an idiot. So I have to get back or the place will fall apart without me.'

'I never invited you into my house, Sam.'

'Is this what it's all about? Really? Seriously? That's your main worry? You're not wondering why I'm here? You're not at all curious? Don't you want to know where Floyd is? Or Reid? Are you not even sort of curious about that? I have answers, but I can't give them here. You can take me back to your place or come to mine would be even better. I can show you around the yard and you can see what a fucking upstanding and fantastic person I've become… I'm not the whore I used to be. I'm not like that now… but really the most important part… I know you have feelings for me, but I don't know if it's love. That's the problem. Come back to mine.' The sandwich in the meantime has been torn apart. I guessed he wouldn't eat it. I'm not sure I've seen Sam eat something given to him under there circumstances. He is too paranoid that he will be drugged… which reminds me.

'Did you drug me?'

'No. Can we go now? Talk about this somewhere else? Dave, if I wanted to hurt you, I could have done. I really could have. I didn't want to, though. You can see that can't you? I don't want to hurt you. I just need you to believe.'

'Believe in what?'

'In me! In me! I need you to say my name and believe in my existence! I have to have that to continue to have what I've been given… though I'm not completely sure that what I've been given is something I really want. I'm maybe having second thoughts. But! But this life has to be better than whoring on the streets… yes? I knew you would understand.' He then finished his coffee and stood. I could clearly see that he'd grown. Maybe only a couple of inches but he had grown. No longer a runt, not by any man's measure. Was this new Sam dangerous?

'Sam…'

'No! no, no fucking no! I told you my name and I need you to call me by it. I'm begging you Dave… just call me by my name. It's not much to ask is it?'

'Samsaweel? Is that what you want me to say?'

The delight on his face was frightening. His whole face lit up. There was nothing left of that sulky child. Nothing. This was verging on Flanders. This was insanely creepy. I didn't press charges and I was more than happy to go to this scrap yard of his and talk to him. I need him to understand that he can't just come into my house as he wills because once I let him in. It's not like that. It doesn't work that way and he's well aware of that. His reasons are what I need to discover and why I had to say the name he had signed off on that message he had left me.

I drove him home in my car as he had been taken down town and had no other way back. He was sullen and silent in the car; slumped in his seat and staring out of the window. I wanted to start asking questions but I knew that he'd not talk to me properly until he felt safe and secure again. His place wasn't huge… the whole yard had maybe twenty wrecked cars and a hut which he said the guys got coffee in and there was a chemical toilet for them and a small office and telephone. It was nothing fancy. Sam's own home was a bit smarter and reminded me of the trailer Iolanda had lived in. This started thoughts going over in my head about Iolanda having scrapped cars. Was this the sort of situation he had started in? Was Sam doing the same thing? There were no dogs here. I didn't point that out and Sam didn't mention it, but it seemed strange not to have them in a place like this. Maybe I'm just judging by what I've seen so much of. Perhaps Sam just doesn't like dogs.

His trailer was clean and tidy… double wide. A small and very comfortable home with electricity set up and a nice kitchen. He showed me to the lounge and said to settle. He told me it was going to be a long night. It was only mid-day. I had no intention of still being here when it started to get dark. I asked if I could record the conversation. He shrugged and told me to do whatever I felt I needed to do.

You might think that what I did was wrong. It was stupid. It was not what a rational man would have done. I should have had him arrested and at least have a slap on the wrist. I should have let him know how angry I was, how stressed it had made me, but no… that's not what I did and so that was why I was sitting in his trailer as he served up coffee and put an ash tray on the table and he sat back with his legs crossed at the ankles and gave me a long hard look.

'They can't come back.' He suddenly said. I asked who he meant. 'Floyd and Spencer. Spencer has moved on and can't. He crossed over. Floyd is being held. He's bound. They won't let him go again and he can't walk away. I'm different though. I don't belong to The Old Woman. I just needed to be called… and you did… Aaron did a bit too, but mainly you. Thanks.'

'Called you back from where?'

'Hell.' He lit up a cigarette and flipped one over towards me. I also lit up. 'It's not that I'm a bad person. I just do, really do need to be loved.'

How do I explain that I don't love him? 'You broke into my home.' Avoid the subject.

'Fucking hell! Are you going to keep going on about that? You're such a fucking pussy sometimes. I never hurt you not once and let me tell you now… because I do read what you've been writing… so I'll tell you right now that I did not kill Jack. Point your finger any fucking where but not at me. I never fucking touched the little fucker. I'm not sad he's dead or even bothered at what was done, but it wasn't me… so you tell Aaron that. I'm not going to be blamed for something I never did. Got it? That was Floyd… blame him if you want to blame anyone and I can even tell you why he did it. I can tell you that much… but it won't give Aaron any peace, I assure you of that. His days are soiled and in ruin. Knowing why won't bring the kid back… talking of kids… something I'm not. As you can see. The veil is lifted. The charms and whatnot have gone because Floyd is gone. You can see me as I should be and I'm fucking gorgeous, but I'm not a damned kid.' He leaned forward now, uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. 'Dreams are dead. All my fucking dreams are gone. I never finished uni… I don't want to whore… I'm not going to get that job in Ohio or Alaska or wherever it was and no one will employ someone who has no formal education. Don't matter how fucking clever he is. If it's not on paper you might was well cut your losses and try for something else. I'm trying for what you see. A slow start, but it's going OK now. But my dreams are down the pan and I don't rightly know what to do now or what way to turn. I'm here… you called me back. What do you want?'

I didn't want anything. I certainly didn't want Sam in any way other than to discuss Flanders with him. I was at a loss for what to say. 'You have a nice home.'

'A nice home?' Sam got to his feet and looked out of the window for a moment. He dragged on the cigarette was though it was his life and then turned to look at me. 'Nice home? You're fucking kidding me, right? You called me back to tell me that I have a nice home? The one I had in hell was a fuck sight nicer than this trashy hole. You think I want to live like this? You think this all I aspired to be? Some backwoods cunt with engine oil behind his fingernails? You should smell this place when it's hot. It fucking stinks. What the hell makes you think I want this? Do you want it? Fancy swapping homes? No of course you fucking well don't. You're didn't drag me back from my comforts to tell me that my fucking trailer is nice.'

'Your comforts? I thought you said you were in hell?' Tripped over his own words. Not as smart as he thought he was…

But he sits again and pulls out another smoke as he stubs out the one he's just finished. 'Dave, Dave my friend… oh my fucking god… you'll never understand will you? You seriously think that what? That I was burning in the fires of hell and being eaten alive by the monsters who fly around? You really think that? No… that's not really what happens. I was born there. It is my home from home. Why would they torture me? Explain that? I'm one of them. They want me to work for them. They don't want me turning my coat and running to the other side – not that they'd have me – but that's not what they would do. I would be encouraged and loved in my own simple way and given the things I need to feel alive and content. There is pleasure in that. You know? It's not all about pain and shit. It's also about silk cushions and something to take the edge off the pain. It's about being who you really are. Now, let me tell you now, that if you're not from where I come from then you would likely be roasted alive and munched on. We do need something to eat. Food has to come from somewhere. But for something like me… well how do I get my comforts, Dave? How do I get nice things if I don't play their games? It's how it works and I like it that way and I'm comfortable that way. If Floyd had still been around it would have been different but you know what? Shall I tell you a secret Dave? I'll tell you… you're looking very confused… I'll tell you. When Floyd was eliminated he thought I would be too. Nope. All that happened was that his shit was handed over to me. I was his clone. I am his immortality. One day I will do what he did and I'll clone myself and that will become the new me. I'm not Sam. I'm Samsaweel. I am fucking perfect. I can have what I want. I just have to ask for it. I just have to make sure that I place things correctly. I seem to have got rid of your dogs easily enough. I just have to snap my fingers and it's mine. And now I can have all I want… what have I got?. I've got a fucking junk yard which stinks and you are looking at me as though I'm crazy. I'm not. I'm not crazy. It's all perfect… it's…'

I didn't let him finish. I got to my feet and walked to his door. 'Come into my house again and I will have you arrested. I'll not put up with this, Sam. I will not tolerate this insanity. You need help. You need serious help. Don't force my hand and make me get that for you. Stay away from me. Stay away from Hotchner.' I walked out into the dull afternoon light.

'And who the fuck are you to tell me what to do! How fucking dare you order me around. You have no idea who the hell you're talking to!'

I didn't even bother to turn to look at him, but called the words over the yard. 'Seems like I'm still talking to a child.' I then got into my car and drove away, quite sure that he would show his face again. People like that needed to get the last word.


	15. Seeing a Seed

**FIFTEEN (Seeing a Seed and Missing the Forest)**

I decided, against my much better judgement to invite Sam around for dinner at my place. It seemed that was what he wanted from me, attention, so I was partially willing to give him some. There was no form of friendship I was planning on forming. I needed Sam for information about Flanders so I could get my book written. I had a lot of notes and a lot of ideas but nothing concrete enough yet. I still didn't know how Floyd by-passed locks and this was what I was going to be asking Sam. I got the telephone number of the Junk Yard and gave him a call.

He was busy. He had things he had to do. It was impossible to leave today. He said he would come the day after. It was a _date_ if you will. I didn't ask what he was busy with, wrecked cars had never held much interest with me and I didn't need to hear about what he was doing with them. That was not even close to the information I wanted from him. He sounded tired, almost as though he was forcing himself to talk to me. I wondered if what he really needed was for me to beg him to make time, but I wasn't going to do that. I asked him to arrive tomorrow at three in the afternoon. That would give me time to talk to him, cook something and eat, but also have him out of the house before it got too dark.

I've never been one to be afraid of the dark, but something seemed to have slipped inside of me along with the doubts I had about my God and my Church. I briefly had a thought to go and see a priest and then decided not to. He would ask where my doubts came from and I could hardly tell him it was because I had invited a demon for dinner. I spent that day buying food to cook and then drank too much in the evening. I wanted to sleep without nightmares and it seemed to work. I woke as the birds began to sing and had the whole morning to prepare things. There was nothing I needed to hide from Sam. He'd had full access to my house and had probably seen anything and everything. The idea that he'd been delving into my clothing drawers had me washing all my underwear and socks. The thought that he'd had his hands on those things made me feel sick.

I prepared the food for dinner. I was not sure if Sam was going to be eating with his fingers or with utensils so to avoid any sort of messy conflict, it was pizza I was making. I also had salad ready. All things he could pick with this fingers. As a treat there was some ice-cream in the freezer, but I would wait until we'd had pizza to see if offering that was going to be on the cards. I thought it probably wouldn't be.

He arrived five minutes early. Sam was a good time-keeper if nothing else. He was hyped up and yet nervous. He came in wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a Tshirt and paced around my kitchen island with soft canvas boots on his feet. I was very aware that he touched nothing except for once when he dragged his fingers over my granite work-surface. He was silent. There was no word of greeting. He just walked in and began his pacing.

When he finally spoke it was not what I expected. 'You didn't invite me here because you like me. You don't want to know about my crappy up-bringing or what my desires and loves are. I know that, so I'm assuming it's Floyd you want to talk about. For your book? Am I right?' He was now perched on the very edge of one of my oak kitchen stools. It looked as though he was ready to get up and run.

I nodded at him. There was no point in lying to Sam. I don't think he could sniff out a lie the way Floyd could but I still found no reason to deceive him. 'There are many things I would like to know about him. Things which were always questions and never answered. Maybe would could start is how he could tell so easily if someone was lying to him?'

Sam lit a cigarette and offered one to me. For now I left it sitting on the counter. 'He'd been around for a long old time. He was an expert profiler. You could have had him on your team if he wasn't such a cunt. He'd have got your UnSubs easy. Except sometimes he _was_ the UnSub. I guess that would have caused problems. He could tell by body language, dilation of the pupils. The way someone sat or held their head. He could tell by the _ticks_ someone had. Everyone has them. You just have to be able to recognise them. Floyd was very good at that. He studied people. He watched them from way, way off and them came in closer and watched them so close that you could feel his breath on your face or the back of your neck. Then there was smells. People all have their own smells and Floyd was especially tuned into that. It's like some can say they see an aura around a person? It was sort of like that, but it was smells. He could sniff out a lie. He could physically see the chemical changes and see it wafting out of someone. Next question?' He stubbed out the cigarette and after taking a long drink of some of my less expensive red wine, he lit up again. There was something about Flanders and smoking which were closely tied. Another thing I could ask about.

'He stalked people.' I stated.

'Obviously.' Sam stood and looked at what I was doing with the pizza.

'He groomed people.'

Sam looked puzzled by this and shook his head. 'Never needed to. He wouldn't have shown interest in someone who needed to be groomed. Far too lazy to have to do that. And there was his lack of ability to stick to a plan.'

'Reid.'

Sam smiled and then returned to perch on the stool. 'He never groomed Reid. Spencer was going to be what he was whatever happened. He was a freak and a jerk, but he also had these needs which Floyd was able to fill. Spencer wasn't who you thought he was. Never was who you thought he was. He was quite bonkers. No test from any doctor would have shown it, because Reid was an expert in covering up what he really was. Sweet, nope… he wasn't. He was not sweet. He was a nasty bastard. Nasty enough to know someone was murdering and eating people and not caring beyond his own needs. He knew, knew very well that the food he ate was not always what he should have been eating, but he ate it anyway. He let it happen. He was weak, stupid and needy. Very needy and greedy and spiteful. That's why Floyd liked him. But he was never groomed. He would have ended up dead or in an institution had Floyd not been there to guide him and show him to Gideon. He would have killed himself because Reid was that sort of person from the start. He just had skills in covering up and some of that Floyd might have shown him… he might well have tutored him in the art of deception and lies, but he never groomed him. He helped him. Kept him alive.'

Sam knew that I was recording this. I placed the small recording machine on the counter just to ensure that Sam knew and wouldn't accuse me of tricking him later. 'How did he get through locks?' This was something I really had to know.

This strange person in my kitchen looked down at his hands and then held them up for me to see. He had long very nicely groomed fingernails. The index finger on each hand was painted red. Was this meant to mean something? I asked him to explain.

'Did you never notice how nice Floyd's fingernails were? Well, not nice so much as long and sharp. He always said to me that fingernails and teeth are the greatest of weapons. Not so easy to disarm someone if the weapon is growing out of their very flesh. His hands were that. A weapon. He could get out of hand-cuffs with them. It always looked as though he was just idly brushing a thumb against the lock, but it was not what he was doing. It was a diversion to stop you seeing what he was really doing… sliding a nail up inside and releasing the ratchets. It's easily done if you know what to do and have practiced and hardened your nails and shaped them for that very reason. He was good at that. As for mechanical door locks… that's much harder to explain and it's kind of magical and wondrous and as I can do it too, I might not want to explain that one.' Did Sam believe that was true? I had noted Flanders' fingernails before. Sometimes there were almost like talons… hard and sharp and at least one thumbnail was serrated like a knife. They were indeed a weapon and he could slice into someone with those quicker than a lot of people could pull a gun.

'Tracking.' I now stated, though it was more of a question. I put the pizza in the oven and got the prepared salad out of the fridge and placed it on the counter in front of Sam. 'For with the pizza.' I told him when he leaned over it to have a look. That look wasn't one which made me think he was going to eat any of it.

'Molecules in the air.' Sam replied. 'When someone walks or moves they leave a trail of their own smells behind them. I told you about his sense of smell? Well it went way beyond that. It's why he liked the woods and forests so much… nicer, cleaner smells. He could pick up – sense and see the trail left by someone. But… and I bet you didn't know this – he could pick up on someone heading his way, like reverse tracking? He could pull the displaced air towards himself and smell that too. He got a lot of nosebleeds. Some of that was caused through the stink of the towns. Some was caused through other things. But… if you imagine that everything, every tiny little speck of a thing is individual to the next. Nothing is exactly the same. Everything is slightly different. Right down to the molecular level. Each thing is linked to the next. You can't see that link but it's there. If one thing is removed from that link then the next one slips forward to fill the gap. This carries on and on from things you can't see because they're too small to things so large that you would never understand the vastness of it. Kill one thing, and everything shifts. Everything changes. The course changes completely getting larger and larger over distance and over distance and size. It's like you cure someone of a disease and that person goes on to do something either wonderful or dreadful… maybe that person does something unknown… simple crap like letting a car out in front of you, or walking to work that day and not driving, that car leaves a space or fills a space which shouldn't have been there. The truck doesn't drive into that red car so the blue car gets hit instead and that blue car was a scientist who was about to think of something to cure cancer and now that cure is dead along with him. Then that will alter something else because that other guy never got a job doing something because the gap in employment came early, so the man who found a way to fly to some distant galaxy could never do that and so that changes too… one small change… one tiny little shift and everything from that point onward is changed. Some changes are tiny, some are huge. Some will blow the planet apart and others mean that Susan got to walk the dog early and so it she was there when the rapist walked by and attacked her… all of these things are going on around us all the time and Floyd knew. He could feel it shifting. He could feel the changes in the air around him and the slight alteration of smells and sounds. Floyd might have been violent and have a foul mouth on him, but he was unique and marvellous and it's so sad that all anyone ever saw was the blood and all they heard was the shit he spoke. No one saw him as I did, or even Spencer did, because no one cared to look beyond and see who he really was and that's why Spencer couldn't leave him. That's why he craved him because there was nothing ever which even came close to what Floyd could do… except me of course.'

The more rubbish Sam came out with, the more questions I had to ask him. Firstly I served up pizza and watched him as he picked the cheese and tomato off the top and inspect it carefully. I asked him why he was doing that. 'Is there something wrong with it?' I wondered if he could smell something I couldn't.

Sam placed the slices of tomato on the side of his plate and licked at his fingertips. He gave me a small half smile and shook his head. 'I've been poisoned so many fucking times that I've just grown to be cautious. People put things in your food. You never know it's been put there because you just get a slight headache or a stomach pain or a dose of the shits, but people put it there because they can. They don't want to see the results… not necessarily. They want the knowledge that they defiled your food and you ate it. Rat poison, man-juice, LSD, speed… you know the sort of thing. Things easily put there… can't see it. Can't even taste it, but give me enough rat poison and I'll start to get ill. I just don't trust that someone is going to feed me and not attempt to poison me. Don't mean to offend you. This is great food. It's just a habit.'

And so my list of questions gets longer. Had Floyd been poisoning Sam? If so, why?

I set that aside for now and asked him something else. Out of all of this there had to be some truth there somewhere. 'Are you related to Floyd?' Simple question. I should have been able to get a simple yes or no answer.

'I am Floyd. Partly. I'm his Spawn. I'm like a clone, but as I said no two things can ever be exactly the same. My genetics are different. I was made from him. He's not my father… the demons in hell are my parents. I've never met them. I thought this was going to be about Floyd though, not me. You know why I was too busy yesterday? You don't like me enough to even ask what was so important that I couldn't come here to lick tomato slices? Well I'm getting my own clan together! I've had a few trailers put on the land and some cargo shipping containers which are up on supports and concrete and stuff and they will be made in to small houses for people to live in! It's so exciting, Dave… really. I'm getting people off the streets and living there. I've bought land next door and we are going to farm it. A commune! It's going to be so fantastic. I will pay them, obviously and they will have their housing and everyone will be a part of it… not just workers but families too. I've all the permissions granted. Cost a lot of money to organise it but I don't want to just live amongst old cars. I want to lead them and be the one they come to for sagely advice. A bit like a young and very good looking Iolanda. So that's what I'm going to do and I only have you to thank for that because you called me back.' He was chewing and talking. Spitting wet pizza over the table and really my appetite was gone. It's not my place to check that what Sam had planned was legal. If that was his plan then someone else would have to sort out if this was permitted or not. Sam had grown… emotionally grown. He was always the follower and now he wanted to lead a group of people. 'A promised land. My personal Tzion. I will be their religious leader and their comforter and I'll be able to screw them all because they'd not dare say no to someone who was doing all that for them. I'll pick young good looking men and women and maybe have to get rid of them if they get too old. It's going to be fantastic.'

'It sounds like it's going to be a brothel of some sort.' I told him.

'Nothing wrong with fucking, Dave. Nothing at all. It's natural. Delivering the seed of life forward. It's something Floyd could never do because he only liked arse and actually I can't do it either because genetically I'm a hybrid and sterile. Which is wonderful because I can hump the bitches and not get them pregnant. I don't want kids.'

Time to pull this disgusting conversation back to Floyd. 'He could see in the dark.'

'Nope. No he couldn't. Not always. That was something else who could see in the dark and was using Floyd. That was what could see in the dark. Gave Floyd a bit of an edge, but that wasn't him. Strip that parasite away from him and he'd not be able to do that.'

'Parasite?'

Sam tapped his head. 'The monster in his head. The thing that used him as a skin puppet. The demon in his body that leached all his self from him and left that nasty creature behind that we all got to know so well. That wasn't Floyd. That was something else. A disease. He did get clean though. He got that monkey off his back. It was crippling him. Causing those nose bleeds he sometimes had. It also stopped him feeling hot or cold and took pain away. He could feel pain, you know? He could… and he couldn't be killed easily. He could regrow bits quickly. That was all Floyd. But there were little things… tiny things he did or could do that weren't actually him. I'm thinking what else there was… Voices. He could hear voices.'

'Talk to me about why he never seemed to sleep.' We had retired now to the lounge. I'd not yet offered ice-cream. I didn't want him wiping his dirty fingers on my soft furnishings.

Sam sat with his feet on the couch, which is brown leather so it didn't bother me beyond it being the height of bad manners. 'He didn't need to. Not very often. But he did sleep. A light sleep which a butterfly could have roused him from.' Sam now pulled off his red high-top boots and started to pick at his feet. 'You have to be very sure that you're safe to sleep, don't you think? I mean really very sure that nothing is going to come and attack when you're not able to defend yourself. It's not something Floyd liked. He was very vigilant. He didn't often let his defences down. He had to be with someone he could trust completely. Not many people filled that place for him. He hibernated though. He could slow down his heart and almost stop his breathing. That was usually when he was injured. He could put all of his energy into it. Again… not often… but he did trust Spencer to keep an eye on him when he did that. Idiot. I would never have trusted Spencer that much. Hell… Floyd didn't even like to remove his clothes so he could get in the shower. That wasn't a lack of need to keep clean it was because people are more vulnerable if they're naked. Clothing is a shield. It protects even if it's just a physiological protection. It's there. You must agree with that. He used to say that it was better to fuck fully dressed… that the recipient liked it because it felt dirty and bawdy. The feel of rough cloth on your backside and the digging of the buttons on your back… that smell too. The smell of sweaty clothing and the overall degrading feel of it. People like that. I like that. But I don't do that myself. I've no problem being naked… but then Floyd always tried to disguise the fact that he wasn't as big built as he would like. He was a slightly built person, layered with years of dirt and filthy clothing. It was his shield. But no… he didn't sleep much. He zoned out, meditated, talked to the voices in his head.'

I nodded at Sam. It sort of made sense if you knew Floyd. 'To your knowledge, was Floyd alcohol or drug dependant?' I already knew the answer to this but I wanted to know what Sam thought of this. The pair of them were very close. Maybe I should include more of Sam in it.

Sam stood up and walked to the kitchen. He didn't answer the question but I heard the freezer door open and his voice calling back and asking for ice-cream. I told him to help himself, which he did. He brought in a small tub and sat with it on his lap, digging the mixture out with his fingers. I got him a towel to wipe those fingers on before he felt a need to clean them on my silk cushions.

'Yes. Floyd was an alcoholic and a drug user. Habitual. Some people have so much pain inside of them, emotional pain that they need something, a crutch or maybe something more like sand-paper to take those rough edges away. He didn't do those things because he needed the drug as such. He did it because of the pain.' Some finger sucking went on now. Sam was watching me closely, so I went and got a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray and set them on the table with a lighter. I didn't want to watch the way Sam was sucking his fingers like it was something sexual. It was revolting.

'What sort of pain was Floyd in?' I was expecting headaches and wasn't let down.

'Terrible head pains. His brain… his skull… you know he had trepanning done more than once. He was so used to it that he tried to do it himself. He had dents in his skull from it. Iolanda did it to him too. Actually, I know that Floyd would go to Louis for that very reason. His brain would bleed. It was horrific. Something to do with that parasite I said about. It was his disease and it was killing him. The alcohol and drugs dulled the pain but never really took it away. Sometimes it was so bad that the blood filtered into his eyes. He actually, literally saw red… and that's when his temper would flair the most. But it was emotional pain too and just the need to be able to forget things. Let life drift for a moment. They weren't illegal drugs. Not like Spencer took… not like I take. I'll take any fucking thing as long as the pain goes away. Different people have different pains. Floyd's was all encompassing agony.'

I had no sorrow for Floyd's pain but I did want to know more about it. 'I always had a feeling that Floyd had difficulty with emotions. Unable to really tell how a person was feeling or able to communicate his own back again, unless it was anger.'

Now more sucking of fingers as Sam considered this. 'You really have no idea about him do you? You want to write a book about him and tell the world what an evil bastard he was, but you can't do that. You don't know what he was all about. You don't know what made him tick or why he did things. I don't have all the answers, but I know that he felt emotions better than you ever could. They overpowered him and held him back. Have you ever seen him cry? Ever seen him cry because of something he's seen? I have. It's bloody terrible to see too. It's worse than when he smiles. It feels like nothing will be right with the world again. Floyd loved. He loved totally and completely and even when that love was gone and he'd done awful things… even after many, many years, he still loved in just exactly the same degree as he had originally. Can you imagine that? To be heartbroken constantly, all your life? To never be able to get back what you've lost and he tried! He really fucking tried to do that, but once gone it's gone. There have been a few people in his life he has openly admitted to loving. I don't mean the sort of love man and woman have when they get married or man and man or woman and woman or all the other genders – I don't mean that. I mean something so much deeper. Like you need to taste them. You have to taste their blood. You have to give them part of yourself. You have to have them in sight all the time. Never letting them go. Never ever letting them free again. That sort of obsessive love. The kind which never gives you peace. It's insidious and dangerous and that's why he kept hitting Spencer. It was panic. It was something so deep and so… fierce that I can't even explain it to you. He never loved me that way. Never. He would have let me die. Spencer? No… he would have given up his immortal soul for Spencer, if he could have. I know that. He went beyond everything for him. He did have other loves though. Two main ones, the ones which really haunted him. Little River and Anthony. When they died, part of Floyd died too. A big part of him. So yeah… he had emotions. Maybe they didn't show on the surface, but why do you think he kept taking Spencer away and hiding him from you all. Why? He was trying to keep him safe. A treasure never to be lost. Never. And when he was ordered to kill him? Well he didn't he couldn't. That was the end of Floyd. That really was it. Why he felt that for Spencer, I don't know. I never knew and never will know. I just know that he didn't love me like that.'

Sam was openly crying now. Time for coffee and a rest from the chat. Maybe watch some TV or listen to music. I asked which he would rather and he asked me what sort of music I had. Then said he would be happy with some Mozart which really wasn't what I expected. It was some sort of hip-hop I thought Sam would like to hear, but as soon as the music started to play, gently in the background his demeanour seemed to shift. He sat back and smoked and left the ice-cream to melt on the coffee table and he sipped on wine. Was this something Sam was actually enjoying.

'Do you play piano?' I asked him out of curiosity.

He opened his eyes and looked at me with a small lopsided smile. 'Of course. Violin too… lots of shit. I get no enjoyment out of it though. As Floyd can see colours in smells and stuff, I see numbers everywhere. Technically I can play almost anything put to me. There's no emotion in it though, so yeah, I can play but choose not to.'

'And Floyd, could he?'

'Piano. We sometimes did little duet things but only to make him happy and to show Spencer that we had something he didn't. He tried to learn, but gave up. Probably because I was trying to teach him and nearly broke his fingers when he wouldn't do what I was telling him to do. Such a lame arse. Floyd could play violin too, but I think I only saw him once, maybe twice? But he was really quite good. When I say _quite good_ what I mean to say is he was OK, I guess but not a patch on me.'

'Maybe you should get something to play? It might keep you company in your trailer.' I meant that as sarcasm. I was sure neither of them could do more than bang on a tambourine. There was no proof of that except for there being a piano in one on the homes they had been living in. I'm not sure if the place came furnished though.

Sam scowled at me and sighed. 'You know, I don't have to be here talking to you. I should be back at base. We have homes to make out of the containers. Doors and windows to sort and something to make it warmer in winter. I've got generators coming in and I've paid up to have sewers done. It's going to be fantastic. I'll have all the homeless coming to me to start a new life. It's a utopia. Can you see that? Do you want to come and see the plans and read what I'm going to do? It's only… you know… slightly religious and not Christian even remotely… nothing like that and not any other known religion actually. It's a belief in the old gods and the old ways when love was strong and women were for fucking and having children and cooking and shit and the men worked the fields and came home hungry and slap the kids for crying when he shouts at the woman and then… well… maybe that's not quite utopia, but it's going to be my people and I will control them and I know! I fucking know what you're going to say about not hitting kids and women are for more than fucking, but I'm yet to have that proven to me. I was slapped and whipped and abused all my young life and it never did me any real harm did it? The only thing that I missed out on, if you really think about it, was a tit to suck on… and the kids in my place will have ample tits.'

I must say that I was stunned at what Sam was saying and was very sure that it was illegal. I wanted to know what he was going to offer these people and why they would leave the streets to work for him. He told me that they will have food and roof over their heads and they would be free to leave whenever they wanted on the understanding that they couldn't take their children with them.

'Children are our future and the immortality of this world. It would die without them. The caregivers for a child have the most important job ever. They're insurance and they are going to bring a fabulous new future. They are the most precious thing ever, after me. I'm going to have to put myself top because without me it would never happen. I'll get the whores off the streets and show them natural drugs they can take and not get addicted and owe money to pimps and dealers. I have it all planned. I can see by that look on your face that you don't think I can do it, but Dave, imagine it! Just imagine how wonderful it will be. The gods will look down on us and make sure that this works well. Oh my god! I'm so fucking excited about it all. Imma and Luke are out today handing out crap to read. Pamphlets and stuff to let people know that there is a safe harbour and a haven for them if they want. I'm not forcing anyone. Not kidnapping… you look worried… it's not like that! It's just… oh… I wish I could explain it to you properly. You can come and see me. See how it works. Please? Will you do that? I'm inviting you. It's not going to be a filth hole like Iolanda had. We will have rules to stick by and will govern ourselves and pay tax and shit and whore if we want, amongst ourselves and damn… I'm getting hard thinking about it.' He snatched up one of my expensive silk cushions at this point and put it on his lap.

I would have Sam's place seen. I'll arrange someone to go and visit. I don't like any of what Sam has said to me. It's actually quite frightening that he's trying to recruit people to live in converted cargo containers and old caravans. It did make me think though… another question.

'Where did Floyd get all his money? We were never able to trace it.'

'The gods. It was his wages. They don't have much of an idea when it comes to exchange rates. Silly buggers. They overpaid him a lot, but no matter… yeah… he had billions. Couldn't have spent it all if he had wanted, but he did have restrictions put in place, like not being able to donate money to a charity or terrorist organisation or to anything concerning politics. He was permitted to spend what he felt needed on Spencer and others… he bought things for people sometimes. You never saw that side of him, I guess. He'd just see a homeless person or someone down on luck and he'd hand over a load of money. Not just enough to get them through the day, but he'd buy them a house and get them a job and pay their bills for a while until they could do it themselves. There were people all over the globe he did that for. Everywhere he has a house will be someone like that too. It's what he did to blunt that hard edge of his. As I've said… you never really knew him. You saw a seed and didn't even look up and around you and wonder about the trees. Any more wine? I got a cab over so I can drink.'


End file.
